Afterglow
by Chanelle Summer
Summary: Now 29, Kim, Tommy and Jason discover they have led 3 very different lives as their paths cross over once again. As two give love a tentative re-trial, the tragic secret of the other will have severe repercussions that will change their lives forever.
1. Kimberly's Catalyst

_Disclaimer:__The Power Rangers and all related characters belong to Saban Entertainment and Disney. Other characters are of my own imagination._

**Author's Introduction:** This story is set in 2008 and has no connection whatsoever with any of my other stories. It is AU. I had started to post this story about a year ago, but only posted a few chapter before I had to remove it after computer failure- a year on, I have learnt to save all my work in multiple locations and decided it's time to start posting this fic. It's very different from my other stories and in all honesty, it's a big step into the unknown for me- but at the same time, I see it as a challenge. Nothing like adding a bit of variety to the old portfolio.

**Rating**: M (Some coarse language, sexual references, suggestive sex scenes and adult themes)

**Genre**: Drama / Romance/ Angst

**Season**: MMPR and DT cast – Post DT AU

**Summary**: Now 29, Kim, Tommy and Jason discover they have led 3 very different lives as their paths cross over once again. As two give love a tentative re-trial, the tragic secret of the other will have severe repercussions that will change their lives forever.

* * *

**Afterglow**

Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 1 – Kimberly's Catalyst**

I'm as nervous as hell.

I can distinctly remember this same feeling before the tryouts for the Pan Global games, or the moment I decided on what outfit I would wear on my first date with Tommy Oliver back when I was sweet-sixteen. Every defining moment in my life was always followed with the same suspense and despite all the years that have passed and all those milestones, one thing is still the same.

The catalyst remains.

You never really think about how things are going to be when you get older. Change is as foreign to you back then as the thought of some science lecture actually being worthwhile. Those are the times when you swap friendship bands and promise that you'll never take them off - even now, as I see their faces sweep behind my closed lids, I remember the feeling of having that one connection wrapped around my wrist.

Now, you're probably thinking this is just me reminiscing at a time when I'm feeling vulnerable. I'm nearly thirty, and the radio has repeated the date almost six times on the short drive to the drug store. The holding hands and candy-sugared banners on the sidewalk are just another reminder that it's Valentine's Day.

The domino affect started as I pulled out of the driveway of my apartment complex, and all the sentimental flavors jeering from the car's speakers are only making it worse now. My parking is off; I catch the leering glance of an unwelcome pair of eyes as I embarrassingly catch my skirt in the car door and then proceeded to glance in the automatic doors as I enter the local shop front.

I was checking myself out! Jesus, how bad are things when I am so self-conscious that I need to reassure myself every two minutes that I still have it in me? My heels clicking on the laminate do it, and I instantly feel the buzz again as I wander down some aisle, my eyes sweeping off the oversized display of cards.

I am losing count now of how many times I've been in this situation and some voice is coming my way, but I am clearly too delusional to respond.

"Kim?"

"Ooh!" I hoot out a little, grimacing freely as I whack myself in the shin spinning around.

"Why are you here? I thought you were spending the day with Luke?" Carmel Morrissey narrows her eyes at me.

This is what best friends do when they approach the big 3-0; they reminded each other that they are still alive and have a place in the world around them.

"I have a disaster on my hands," I reveal more dramatically than I had planned.

Carmel rests her elbow on the nearby shelf, motioning lazily toward my outfit. "Let me guess, he got the wrong message and tried to jump you when you showed up to lunch with your skirt tucked in your g-string?"

"What?" I sputter, spinning around and reaching my hands to the thick waistband, before horridly jerking at the tangled material. "Damn it," I whisper, covering my face in my hands. "I have had a really bad day."

"What did Luke do?"

I practically scowl under my breath at this point, but it's actually directed at myself. "Luke was fine; lunch was great, thank you very much for recommending that restaurant-." I pause, suddenly wondering why on earth I punish myself like this.

"You look good in my skirt," Carmel offers. "But you should have worn the turtleneck-."

"I can't be with him," I suddenly admit. "I can't stand him; I can't stand the way he talks, the way he analyzes everything and God! I can't stand the way he goes on about 'reaching your potential' and oh yeah, the way he knows everything about me- do you know how many times he brought up the incident at 'Middy's'?"

"So, three dates on and once again you can't stand him, but yet when he calls your cell tonight, you'll somehow agree to another date?" Carmel leans toward me with big eyes. "Are you sure you're not scared?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're not being picky-."

"No-." I sigh. "God…it wasn't even what I said, it was what I didn't say."

Carmel's head tips awkwardly to the side, and she knows it's bad. I'm transparent as a book; forever tactful, but I always wear my heart on my sleeve, even on days when the temperature swells above one hundred degrees.

"Hey, Carmel- John's on the phone for you."

I glance at one of Carmel's younger co-workers and I want to cry. I need to pour my heart out, and someone else wants to steal my best friend's attention from me?

Reminder ten for the day: everyone else is in love but me.

"I will come over tonight," she promises me, as she slips away, almost running into a customer.

I try not to look so pitiful. "You'll be at dinner with your husband, remember?" I call out, pouting a little as she stops and glances at me one more time.

Now I really wished I kept as many spare friends as I keep spare lipsticks and hours in my day.

* * *

My apartment is a great indication and reflection of my life. I can't remember a single time when a guest has ever commented on how great it looked, or mentioned how totally divine the scatter pillows are on the floor. And no one has certainly ever remarked on how the curtains go so well with the décor.

Nothing matches. It doesn't look like a concise unit, but more so like a jigsaw puzzle displaying all the various stages in my life. I can distinctly remember all times when I dreamed about being a fashion designer in my junior year and making sure I was the one who wore the first pair of leg warmers to school. I was sure I had it made back then.

The oven mittens on the wall in the kitchen were from my grandmother before she passed away; at that time, I was graduating from college and wanted to do and experience everything under the sun because I couldn't commit myself to anything. I was, how do you say, suffering from 'post-rangeritsis'; Freedom was finally on my doorstep and it was the greatest feeling of achievement.

I gradually discovered that a career in advertising wasn't my thing. I was impatient, and I wanted more. I didn't have a very good head on my shoulders then, either, and that's when I went through the 'modern' stage; neutral colors uneasily blended in the ferry-flossed belongings of my past. Despite telling myself at least once a month that I could make my apartment look soooooo much better if I just de-cluttered, I clung onto everything.

And I mean everything. I am the ultimate hoarder and seem to be missing the part in my brain that stops me from repeating past mistakes.

Like talking on the phone when I get in this mood.

"What's wrong?"

His voice is patient, but despite everything pushing me to speak, I can't because I feel so guilty at just dialing his number.

He sighs, clearly loud enough so I can hear it. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home," I finally reply. "I know I shouldn't be calling this late, but nobody is answering the phone."

The last line comes out slurred and he chuckles a little. "How much have you had to drink?"

I glance at the mug of cold coffee in my lap and smile a little. "I'm not drunk, Tommy I'm tired…I was out all day and completely forgot to check the mail when I got in, and when I did, I got your card…"

I flip open the boldly colored card. "'Dear Kim, Happy Birthday, From Tommy.'" I read out loud, before tossing it gently to the lamp table beside me. "That is the most depressing thing I have ever read."

"I didn't even know if you still lived there," he points out. "Last time I visited, your neighbor told me some old guy was living there and so I sent the card thinking it might somehow be forwarded on to your new address."

I pucker my lips to the side of my face. "Mr. Fewster is off his head," I comment, thinking of my elderly neighbor. "And that doesn't excuse the message…I mean, it doesn't even look like your handwriting."

I am exaggerating, of course, but enjoying the way it stirs him none-the less. "Shouldn't you be too busy romancing with your life coach then to worry about my sloppy handwriting?"

"Don't you start," I warn him light-heartedly. "I have been on three dates too many this time and I've come to the depressing conclusion that maybe a decade on, I need to breathe my own air for once."

There's an irony about my comment, and indeed this whole conversation that you wouldn't really know about at this stage.

The silence hangs on the line for a moment, while I reposition myself on the floor and Tommy begins biting on an apple. The noise brings me closer to him, and I feel like he's right there in the room with me.

"Why are you calling, Kim?" he finally asks evenly, with just enough sincerity in his voice so that I know he's not being rude. He has a right to request, and I have a duty to tell him, even thought I realize my reasons aren't really good enough.

"I dunno. I don't…" A sigh. "Tommy, you've always been honest with me and what I need right now is an impartial voice to tell me what to do. I made a mess with Luke today, and he's not talking to me now; he told me that I'm holding him back. And to make matters worse, it screwed up my plans today and I lied to everyone and told them it was him, when it was me."

"What did you do?"

"You know how I mentioned him talking about the move to Seattle?"

"Oh, you mean the 'greatest opportunity'?" Tommy remembers, with a dry humor in his tone that makes me chuckle at the reminder.

I compose myself quickly. "Well, he told me today that he wanted me to come with him; that he wanted to give us another shot."

Tommy waits for it, but nothing comes out. "What did you tell him?" he asks with an almost protectiveness, all though I might be imagining it.

"I didn't say anything; I literally sat there, frozen and clinging to my cutlery, before he dropped his hand on the table and told me that it was a mistake to ask me. That's when he started going on and on about me not giving myself honestly to the relationship and then accused me of being selfish."

Tommy's good at being objective, but even I can imagine the expression on his face at this moment. Fortunately for me, he's still over an hour's drive away and I don't need to see it now.

So I change the subject before I get the chance to hear it. "So, how's work going?" I ask, my cheery tone instantly flicked on at the thought of Tommy dressed up as a scientist. I can remember the first time I'd heard that he was a teacher at a cosmopolitan high school up north, and no matter how hard I try now, I still keep on seeing the face of Billy Cranston instead of the physically dashing Tommy Oliver.

He even wears glasses nowadays. How I wish he would have gotten those some fifteen years ago so that I could have spent more time admiring his gaze, rather than dictating from the blackboard to him.

"…Kim?…Kim?"

I shake my head, almost making myself dizzy. "Yeah, I'm listening."

He sighs. "I have to go," he admits, but doesn't say why.

"Oh." My lips remain in an 'o' shape almost permanently as I wait for him to say something comforting, even some kind of generic birthday cheer.

"I'm always here to talk to you Kim. I know things haven't always been easy for you."

That's a good start. It's more promising than the usual awkward farewell.

"But-." He stops and I feel the muscles in my neck constrict. "You need to get yourself together. If something doesn't work, let it go and move on…it's the only way you'll ever find happiness…"

His words seem far away and I lower the handset and stare at it. I don't want him to hear the sniffle or the staggered inhaling as I realize he's right. I hate how he's right.

"Good night," I whisper softly, before I end the call.

* * *

"Happy Birthday!"

I blink, shyly scoping the room with expectant eyes, before I realize the reception isn't as big as I was hoping. Despite trying to hide my disappointment by pretending to glance at the new additions on the wall, I know it's hopeless and he doesn't hold back.

"Oh, Kimmy, what's wrong?" he asks in a grave expression that almost makes me laugh.

"I don't need another reminder that I'm twenty-nine," I smile, gratefully taking the wrapped gift from his hand and pecking him on the cheek. "And don't call me Kimmy."

He drops a hand on his hip and cocks an eyebrow. "How drunk did you get last night?"

I exhale a little, trying not show any offense, and plop my handbag on the counter. "I had a great day; great night. Didn't get to bed until four…Oh, and Luke and I are over…again."

John Morrissey is the biggest gossip I have ever met, even more so than his devoted wife, Carmel. There is a reason those two seem to 'fit' each other so well. Even though I know Carmel has promised me time and time again that everything we say is kept within the sisterhood, a bigger part of me always imagines her going home and telling John everything as they drift asleep in bed each night.

John seems genuinely taken aback, however, and like most men I have known, he doesn't know how to take my clipped tone or bleeding heart. I'm sure he's grateful that a customer came up at this point, and I am even more so, as I toss my locks into something resembling a ponytail and open my present with honest excitement. As much as I dreaded the day, I certainly am not opposed to receiving gifts.

"Wow." My eyes light up as I take the vase in my hand. "This is great," I turn to look at him. "Luke would hate it," I add, noting the spiraling colors that glazed over the artistically sculptured piece.

"I need to take some of these paintings over to Daniel Hoskings," John yanks up three over-priced canvases. "Can I take your car?"

"Sure," I nod quickly, pulling my keys from my bag. "Please don't hurt her," I ask him with big eyes.

He chuckles evilly as he leaves and I realize how quiet the gallery is. I never call it work- it is too much of a sanctuary to me, even more so than my own home at times. Most of the paintings are distasteful, at least to me, but then again I have never understood how flicking paint at a canvas was considered to be worth seven hundred dollars. I have my favorites, and I always hang them discreetly enough, but on an angle so I can still see them from the counter.

"Kim?"

I turn around and frown as John struts back in with a strange look on his face.

"I filled up with gas this morning and the adjuster on the seat is broken so you'll just have to squish your legs in to drive," I ramble presumptuously, stopping as he displays something in his hand.

"What is this?" he asks strangely.

I stare at the leather jacket hanging from his hand and shrug. "It's old. I'm getting rid of it."

His face creases up, the folds in his forehead making him look so much older than his thirty-seven years. "Why are you getting rid of all your stuff? You've got some classics in there."

"Yeah, well take what you want," I offer, dropping down on the stool behind me. "And you can take all the rest of it to the church down the road on your way…trust me, it's all old…it's...junk."

"Okay," he shakes his head, walking out of the door.

Thursdays are always quiet at the gallery. Since John and Carmel took control of the small, but profitable store, we could never really work out why that was the case. Even Carmel, who was the less artistic one out of the two, declared she preferred her casual job at the local drug store on such days because it kept her more on her toes.

Maybe people didn't feel very creative on Thursdays? Maybe they were too burnt out by the proceeding days of the week to even think about buying some picture of an abstract boat for their wall.

Usually, I take a long lunch on Thursdays and spend the morning before it arguing with John about which paintings should be hung up on what wall. His sibling-like charm is like eating several pieces of chocolate and makes me feel good.

Oh God, there it goes again- now I'm thinking about Jason Scott and how I used to get that feeling from him. The whole domino affect has started for the day, and pretty soon I'll find myself thinking about Tommy and analyzing our talk the night before.

And it goes on and on. Next birthday, I'm going to make sure I walk under a car the day beforehand, or even just drown myself in a mixture of vodka and cola so I don't go through this again.

"Morning," the postman strolls in the front door, flicking a discreet mess off his uniform as he passes me the mail. "Have a nice day."

I smile through a sigh as I grab the pile, shoveling them to the side and turning to the daily Angel Grove Gazette. I usually skip the first ten or so pages, heading straight to the astrology, but I notice something catch my eye and I stop earlier. Things must be bad if I am checking out the personal ads, especially if it isn't to make fun of them with Carmel.

The familiar tinkering of my car pulls up and I knowingly swing around, realizing half an hour has passed and I didn't even notice it.

"Did he pay?" I ask John hopefully, knowing all too well that our regular customer likes to buy, but rarely pays on time, despite his bulging business account.

John waggles a check in his hand. "Now I have a good reason to go to the bank. I might wait half an hour or so, there's one hell of a funeral precession leaving St. Patrick's and it was hard enough dodging the traffic to drop your stuff off…"

He pauses and flops on the stool beside me, tinkering away on the register as he speaks his mind. "Why you clearing your stuff anyway? I thought you didn't throw things away."

"I don't. But I guess I realized that half of my wardrobe consists of mini skirts and midriff tanks that just don't look right on me anymore." I pout, but smile warmly as he wraps an arm around me.

"You're still a beautiful girl," he compliments. "And you'll always be young to me."

"That's cause you're old," I tease him with childish delight, composing myself swiftly as an image draped in tailored threads steps through the glass entrance.

I turn my head away immediately and stifle my giggles as I hear John snap into sales mode. He literally has an accent when he talks with customers, and part of me never adjusts to his out-of-place persona.

"I'm here to see her," the visitor's deep voice declares.

I turn around, sweeping my bangs out of my face and stare. I have a habit of staring and zoning out. Picture it as though someone has pressed the pause button, only the rest of the world doesn't stop and I come out of it looking more than foolish.

He's good-looking. Tall, dark; good-looking. Brown eyes that take me back more than ten years and bring a girlish blush to my cheeks.

"I guess a Happy Birthday is in order?" Jason Scott asks, his lips curling upwards in his all natural allure.

--

**Chapter 2 "Jason's Truth":**

We shared a life together; everyday shared through one set of eyes so much so that now I don't know what to think of the world without her.


	2. Jason's Truth

**Afterglow**

Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 2 - Jason's Truth**

* * *

Despite being someone fairly young and somewhat modest in the finances department, people often consider me well-traveled. Putting aside my out-of-this-world expeditions to foreign planets as a teenage superhero, there's actually fewer countries I haven't been to than those I have- the boxes of piled photographs taken over the years will forever be my proof that I've lived a pretty amazing life.

But, this is the first time I've been in an art-gallery store. I've lived a scattered existence in Angel Grove, and yet I didn't even know it existed, nor expected to find Kimberly Hart sitting here behind the counter.

She's staring at me, her stance more nervous than how I remember her. This girl had a whole heap of attitude in our fifteen years as childhood friends, and thinking back I can't remember a time when she had this expression of her face.

I suddenly worry that I've gotten her birth date wrong or that she doesn't recognize me, when she finally acknowledges me. "Jason," she breathes out, both hands grasping the counter between us. "Wh-. Hi."

I frown a little at her awkwardness. "How long have you been working here?" I ask her, quickly glancing around the compact store that looks like a kaleidoscope of random colors to my unaccustomed eye. "I didn't know art was your life's ambition."

"I uh, this is John," she rambles, sweeping her hand toward the man who greeted me. "John, this is Jason Scott, we used to go to school together."

I reach out and shake his hand, noticing the ring on his finger. He has a strong grip, but the expression on his face doesn't seem right. All though tall and well presented, he doesn't seem like Kimberly's type at all- but then again, I haven't seen this woman for seven years. Last time I had seen her, she'd still been a girl.

"I'm sorry to be rude, but I've got some banking to do," the man suddenly admits, patting Kimberly tenderly on the shoulder. "Lock up if you have to go anywhere," he adds.

She nods and watches him as he leaves, before turning and relaxing slightly. "This is really a surprise," she admits, tucking an absent strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You look…" she gestures with her hands. "You look great."

"This?" I point wryly to the dark suit uncomfortably cocooning my body. "This is a disguise- something I only pull out for weddings or funerals."

"Oh. Who got married?" she asks presumptuously.

I purse my lips, swallowing under the weight of my battered emotions. "It was a funeral," I admit, trying to shrug it off. "It was a nice day for it."

Her dark eyes widen with regret, as though she feels my pain- a trait that hasn't changed, despite the years apart. "I'm so sorry," she offers. "John mentioned a funeral at St. Patrick's…it's a beautiful church…but I uh, hardly get a chance to go there," she admits almost shamefully.

I smile at her honesty, suddenly remembering the object that had brought us together now.

"Speaking of churches," I start, taking the tiny pocket book out of my pocket. "I found this on top of a pile of bright pink clothing and frilly mini-skirts."

"My photo album!" she gasps out, swiping it from my hands and hugging it to her chest. "I can't believe I nearly threw it out!"

I allow her to continue her private moment, secretly noticing the smile lines that dimple in her cheeks now. Her whole self is still tiny, yet so much curvier now, round lines advertising in place of a body contained by years of dedicated gymnastics training. She looks healthy; womanly. And most especially, she looks relaxed and happy.

Her eyes catch mine, dancing with delight. "Thank you so much for finding me and bringing this to me…this is great; thank you."

I suddenly feel a little embarrassed. "Not a problem, lucky that everyone on this street knows the short gallery worker named 'Kim'," I recount. "So, uh-." I suddenly stop, feeling strikingly awkward about what I'm going to ask. "Do you have time to catch up for a coffee sometime?"

Her eyelashes blink daintily. "Sure," she replies. "But I really shouldn't go now and leave the shop locked up…last time I did that, I missed around thirty calls which is record for us…"

I quickly grab my wallet and pull an old receipt out, scribbling my cell number on the back. "I'm staying at the Sundowner Motel," I mention, handing her the note. "But you can get me on my cell."

The paper crinkles in her hands as she folds it and puts it in her pocket. "I'll call you," she says. "It would be great to catch up."

I hope she will, but don't want to push her, or myself. There are two reasons I had made an effort to sneak away from the funeral mob to find Kimberly, and I can't ignore the second one any longer. I just hope she isn't misreading the stance of my body nor my keenness to meet up with her again.

"I gotta get back," I admit. "It was great to finally see you, it's been ages…" I step back toward the door. "Glad I made your day."

"Thanks again," she waves a little, seemingly stepping on her toes. "Take care."

I smile one last time, and leave, walking quickly past the glassed storefront, only to stop when I'm certain I'm completely out of her sight. Against my true wishes, I reluctantly pull my cell off my belt and scrunch my face with annoyance at the display.

Ten missed calls.

I guess it's time to get back to my reality before they all start to worry I've snuck away to jump off the nearest cliff edge.

* * *

The walk back toward my temporary accommodation has been, by all physical descriptions, peaceful and desired. Despite the quality of my suit, I can feel the chill of winter, but the sun above almost cancels it out- I am starting to feel hot as I approach the stairs to the second level and take my jacket off gratefully.

I put the key to the door, but it opens before I click the lock.

"Where have you been?" my mother greets me with clear concern.

I smile a little sneakily, not because I find her worry amusing, but because a simple walk down the street had caused such panic. It's not as though I wasn't capable of protecting myself if someone tried to mug me- but then again, that isn't what she's so worried about and I know that.

"I went for a walk," I explain as I close the door behind me. "Did you know that Harry Lockhart is running a café on Lygon Street?"

"Your father was hoping that you might come over tonight for dinner…say around six?"

I almost cringe. I don't feel like eating and I don't feel like talking about today. I can only explain it like this: I'm grieving and everyone knows that funerals are sad, no matter how close you were to the person. But I don't deal with grief by talking. I need space and time and no matter how many different ways I try to tell them this, they don't understand me.

They read into it too much.

She walks over and rubs my shoulder. "I know today was hard for you…"

"I'm fine, mom," I assure her, looking at her over my shoulder. "Where's dad?"

I move around her and shift my attention to the tie around my neck, pulling at it in aggravation as she watches me.

"Mom…"

"Your dad has gone home with Jeremy and Kay, your little nephew needed a nap. I told your father I'd wait for you here to make sure you're okay."

I toss the gray tie on the nightstand, unable to avoid how she touches me with her words. I flop down on the double sized bed beside her and smile; A genuine one.

"I'm doing better than okay, I'm great…you'll never guess who I ran into today."

"Harry Lockhart?" she guesses, referring to my earlier comment.

I smile further as I remember my meeting of fate earlier. "Kim…She's working at Gallery Lygon."

My mother turns her head in surprise, her eyes lighting up at the memory. "That's wonderful, it's been how many years now?"

"Seven."

"And how is she? Well, I imagine."

I unbutton the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them up uncaringly. "She looked great. She's married, I think- I met her husband…someone I asked in the street mentioned it was a couple who ran the business together."

She pushes herself off the bed. "That's wonderful to hear she's settled down…does she have any little ones?"

I shrug. "No idea. We didn't talk much, she was at work and all." I think for a moment. "I really wasn't planning on running into her."

"Well, you should invite her and her husband around for dinner…tonight, if you like," she suggests. "It will be nice to catch up, don't you think?"

I'm distracted. I'm tired, and try not to look so unenthusiastic, but my wariness is beginning take control.

"Yeah maybe," I reply. "I'm gonna have a shower and a nap, tell Jeremy that I'll be around later."

She reaches for the door. "Call me if you want a lift."

"I will mom, see you soon."

Finally I'm alone. This is what I wanted and what I need. The music from the church service that morning still rings in my ears. What song did she love the most? Oh that's right, it was about Angels. Not as clichéd as it sounds, but hearing it that morning will make it a sad reminder forever on. I know she didn't mean it when you she chose it, but that's what has happened.

I'm thinking about her as I stand in the shower. Cindy Kearns was thirty-three and a good friend to me. Some would say that we were more than that, and maybe we were inside, but I would never categorize what we had like that. We made a life together; every day shared through one set of eyes so much so that now I don't know what to think of the world without her.

The familiar tune of my cell phone breaks through the steam and heat, and I feebly throw a towel around me as I reach for it. I stare at the number blinking, and all though I want to answer it, I have no idea what I'm going to say.

I didn't expect for her to call me. I just know it's her.

"Hello?" I answer it, quickly clearing the fog in my throat. I wonder if she can tell I've been crying?

"Hi…it's me, it's Kim."

"Hey," I genuinely attempt to sound cheery and walk out to sit on the bed. "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"Aw well, you know it's kinda quiet here at the moment," she explains. "But I was flipping through my album and I remembered that pizza place we used to go to on Friday nights…you remember, the one next to the movies?"

Of course I can remember- Zack Taylor, Tommy Oliver and I stuffing ourselves with pizza while Kimberly and Trini Kwan scrunched their faces up in disgust.

"They made the best pizzas in town," I remember.

"Well, guess what? They still have the best pizzas around and I am craving a super supreme pizza…low fat, of course."

"When do you have this in mind for?" I wonder.

"Tonight…that is, if you're not busy or anything."

I remember mom's invitation immediately and feel a hint of remorse, but the better part of me knows that she will be overjoyed if I choose to spend the night with an old friend. And the weary side of me would feel better listening to Kimberly's sporadic retellings, than my parents' pity.

"I'll see you there at six?" I suggest.

"Sounds like a plan," she replies.

* * *

I step out of the cab and everything floods back to me.

The smell hits me first. Pizza has one of the best smells in the world, and it's a little bit of that, mixed with the cold weather. I can remember the few times our parents let us stay out an hour after a movie finished and we'd cram into the corner booth and just laugh.

The heater is overwhelming, and I quickly tug my jacket off as I glance blindly around the over-filled parlor. Little has changed; the booths are still a shiny red color and they still have silly pictures of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe on the walls. The duke box in the far corner is playing some seventies song, but the chatter of all the guests drowns the beat out.

I feel a little out of place.

I walk along the edge, looking for two heads popping out above a high-booth seat. I almost cringed inwardly as I realize I don't have Kimberly's cell number to call her.

"Jason!" her chirpy voice flutters my way and I turn to pinpoint her location. Dressed in a bright red turtleneck and gesturing wildly from her seat, she stands out like a high beam on a lone stretch of road.

I laugh and weave my way through the scattered tables, almost flinching as she reaches for my face and kisses me on the cheek.

I brush my own lips against hers. "You look great," she gushes, holding me by the shoulders momentarily, before dropping down into her seat.

I take the only chair left at the compact table and clasp my hands as she fusses with her pants.

"I was worried you were going to stand me up," she jokes, as she motions to the menu. "You ready to order?"

She always cuts to the chase. "Starving," I confirm, surprising myself on just how hungry I am.

She orders as soon as she grabs the nearest waiter's attention and I only just notice then how bubbly she is; this isn't the woman I had met at the art gallery earlier that day and I'm suddenly curious as to her sudden change of mood.

"So, where's your husband? I thought he might be here tonight."

She lowers her glass, frowning at me with clear puzzlement. "Husband? I can tell you right now, I'm not married to anyone that I know of."

It's then that I notice the lack of ring on her finger and it's time for me to be confused. I guess it might have been presumptuous of me to assume the man she was working with was her husband.

"I uh…" I laugh a little at myself. "I thought the guy you introduced me to at the gallery was your husband."

She leans over and lightly slaps me on the arm. "John? He's like a brother to me…he's been married to my best friend for five years. He's a really great guy..." She settles back in her chair. "So, what have you been doing the last seven years, Jason? I notice you're not wearing a wedding ring, either."

I think for a moment, not taking my eyes off her as I wonder how to possibly squeeze the last seven years of my life into one seating. I know I'm not ready to divulge everything, despite knowing that my answer will only breed more questions from her curious personality.

I try to smile. "I've traveled a bit…went to Canada for a couple of years. I figure the debt I built up from all my years in Europe was so bad that a few trips elsewhere wouldn't make much of a difference."

"I know what you mean, I took a trip to London two years ago, and I am still paying my credit card off," she shares. "But tell me about your career? What type of job did you manage to score that lets you travel the world whenever you want?"

"Uh, I worked a bit for John Proctor and Co Real Estate in Chicago. But it wasn't what I wanted, not forever anyway."

"What do you do now, then?" she asks swiftly, taking another sip of her wine.

I shift a little in my chair. "I'm not really doing anything at the moment…but uh," I clear my throat and reach for my own drink to save myself from having to elaborate.

"In a transitional stage, huh?" she guesses, and I nod, swallowing my mouthful. "It must be the age…I love my job but I sometimes wonder if there's more for me, you know?" she almost blushes. "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about."

"Well, I always told you that unless you scored a major cereal box endorsement you'd have to get a real job one day," I tease, remembering the numerous discussions on our long distance phone calls to each other when she was still training.

She scoffs. "I'll have you know that I have been in the 'real' workforce for ten years now, and it's really not all it's cracked up to be," she replies in a sassy tone. "So tell me, where's the gorgeous woman who buys you Ralph Lauren shirts?"

I raise an eyebrow in honest surprise, but swiftly remember that this woman was born with a fashion catalog pinned to her forehead. "I actually bought this myself, after I moved on from the muscle shirts stage. As for the woman, I don't have one…all by choice."

"Oh, of course," she nods with a sly glance and I chuckle a little. "Just like I choose to live life as a spinster queen."

"What happened to Luke?" I ask her curiously. It's obviously over, but by her reaction I wonder why I hit such a nerve.

I hope she's not going to share a story of how he cheated on her with one of her teammates. I got to know the former gymnast pretty well on my occasional visits to Kimberly after the completion of my teenage stint overseas, and I didn't think he was the type of guy to treat her that way. She's always had a good sense for people, but after assuming they were a match made to last, I try to prepare myself for anything.

"We broke up a couple of years ago…things didn't work out…I told him I needed to see the world without him, have a chance to do my own thing," she glances down at the table, before raising her eyes again. "Without that common connection in our lives, we didn't have enough to make it last."

Her voice is sad and I want to say something, but our pizza's arrived and the moment is gone. The lingering in her eyes disappears as soon as she pulls a slice onto her plate and like a light she becomes illuminated again; all smiles, and all the girl that I knew.

But I don't buy it. She is hiding something. Kimberly was never good at keeping her feelings to herself, but it seems years of practice was changing all of that and she is learning how to be someone different.

Is her smile really real?

"So, how long are you in Angel Grove for?" she asks, as she begins to pick the bacon off her slice.

I swallow the food in my mouth. "Not sure, really…might stay with mom and dad for a while, but I really haven't made up my mind."

I can tell Kimberly doesn't understand what I'm saying. I expect her to ask me more; to ask me how on earth I was simply floating around in my life with no real direction, but she doesn't and I actually allow myself to relax.

And so we talked about the past. We talked about all the good times, the moments that we've already discussed dozens of times before, but that we never seemed to tire of. It is strange how neither of us really spoke about anything that happened since the last time we'd seen each other. I really don't understand how that happened.

Kimberly was clearly hiding a lot of things. And so was I. Maybe that's why we are such good company together.

--

_**Teaser for Chapter 3 - Tommy's Journey:**_

"And like I mentioned, there are much better ways that you could be spending your vacation," she counters, her eyes slightly softer now.

I shift a little in my seat. "What exactly do you have in mind?" I wonder.


	3. Tommy's Journey

**Afterglow**

Chanelle Summer

**Chapter Three – Tommy's Journey**

Remind me why I'm doing this again? Oh yeah, that's right. I'm a twenty-nine year old science teacher with nothing and no one in my life but these bundles of papers. I swear to God there's other things I'd prefer to be doing with my time then to strain my eyes over half-hearted essays scrawled in careless writing.

I am going to have to have a quiet word with Principal Randall in regards to her brainchild of an idea to have students handwrite their essays instead of relying on the 'lazy' method of computer processing.

Where was I again? Reading this essay. The name on the top is a preview enough of things to come; he's definitely not my best student by any stretch of the imagination, but I can't hold that against him. My versatile and unimaginable life has given me a rare, but private perspective on people. No one is who he or she appears to be.

I mean, I hid my life as a secret superhero for most of my high school years- I think my manners and intentions spoke well for me, but I'm sure a lot of my teachers thought I was cutting class to make-out with my girlfriend, when really I was busy saving their asses from demolition.

Trust me; it changes your perception of people for life.

I lean over and switch the radio beside me down, deciding the noise is too out of place. The darkness from outside clings to my unfurnished windows, and I feel a small sense of calm. Maybe an early night in front of cable might be my best bet for now.

"Knock, knock?" Her voice is moving toward me, full of dryness and with a clear intention to annoy me.

I try not to respond. "Feel like correcting some essays, do you?" I twist around in my chair as she stops at the opening of my kitchen.

Her eyelids lower slightly. "There's that mystery solved; just what an ex-ranger does on his only vacation time in a year." She plops down on the dining chair beside me. "Tell me you haven't been doing this all day."

I chuckle a little at her tone, and slide my glasses off. "Hayley, I can only relax for so long. As it is, I'm thinking about calling Randall tomorrow and telling her I'm ready to go back next week."

Hayley reaches over and picks up one of the crinkled essays, her eyes running over it knowingly – the scary thing is, this woman is far more intelligent than I could ever be. When I first met her in college, I tried to double-guess her and assumed she was just a smart-ass, but I quickly learnt that Hayley Viktor is an exception to that perception thing I was just telling you about- she's exactly who she appears to be, no bones about it. Only a few people seem to have a problem with it- but most people who know her love her for her ability to stay impartial no matter the circumstances.

Hence the way she openly tells me that my choice of Thursday night activities is lame. She doesn't pretend to understand me; but years of her influence have yet to rub off on me like she would have hoped.

I purse my lips, and reach over to grab the essay from her hands. "If you don't mind, I have some correcting to do."

"And like I mentioned, there are much better ways that you could be spending your vacation," she counters, her eyes slightly softer now.

I shift a little in my seat. "What exactly do you have in mind?" I wonder.

"Kira and I are driving to Los Angeles tonight…I promised her I'd drive her for this audition two months ago when I was obviously in my feel-sorry mood," Hayley retells. "I've never been to LA in my life and I know you've been there at least something like ten times-."

"I lived there," I correct her, wondering how she could have forgotten.

"There you go," she points out. "You can save me from getting lost and distract me from Kira's practicing for the entire drive."

I scrunch my face up a little. "I'm busy."

"Tommy, I can't stand here and persuade you, because I have to pick Kira up in twenty-five minutes and I really don't have the time," she sighs. "Look around you…see all these fossils you have instead of knick-knacks like normal people have because they have friends who actually give them presents?"

She is so amusing when she gets like this.

"You are going to die one day and no one will notice," she continues with growing passion. "You'll happily blend in with your décor. I won't notice, because I'm so used to seeing it and no one else will notice because you don't have anyone else. Kira, Trent, Conner; Ethan- they'll all be Christmas cards to you at the most."

"You forgot Principal Randal," I add for pure humor. "I think that she would notice if these essays didn't get marked."

I have rendered her speechless, which is actually very surprising to me because it's not usually as easy as that.

"We'll be back on Sunday, unless Kira is signed up to become a rock star; if you're still alive then, I'll spare a thought for you or send you a postcard depending on how it goes."

She turns and I let out a loud groan. I grab my glasses and pull them off, rubbing my closed eyes intensely. "Fine," I give in, "Give me five to pack some stuff."

* * *

Reefside, my home for much of my adult life, is dubbed a 'bush paradise' by many visitors, mainly because much of it is shrouded in shrubbery. Trees literally line the streets- I can only imagine the view from above is nothing short of the green spectrum in its entirety. Of course, it also shares its right with the ocean line, but that's not why I love it.

Come to think of it, I haven't been to the beach in years.

I relish the sanctuary that is my home. People call me a hermit and I say screw them- I had my time in the spotlight, and now that I can say I've served my purpose to the world, it's my right to have my life to myself.

And I don't like driving. I don't take 'holidays'. Hayley was more than stating the blunt truth when she prodded me with such a reminder. I'm not trying to make out like I'm some twisted fool, hiding my scars from the public, but I'm content with my life how it is. Los Angeles is pretty much the complete opposite of what I call my dream vacation destination.

"Do you mind if I turn this up?" Hayley asks, as her hand rests on the car radio's dial.

I don't move my head from the road, but glance at the rear view mirror. "I don't mind if we listen to the radio, but do you think we can stick to one channel?" I ask, waiting as Kira Ford's eyes' meet mine in the reflection.

She's been singing the whole drive so far. Which isn't a problem because truth be told the girl has a lot of talent, but listening to her croon the same verse over and over again is beginning to drive me insane.

My former teammate leans over and rests her head near mine. "You guys, I have to get as much practice in as I can, you-."

"Know how important it is, I know," I finish her sentence, repeating the same statement she's declared almost five times since leaving her house.

She narrows her eyes, but I don't give up. "If it's so important to you, then why am I driving again?" I ask, finally turning my head to look at both of them.

Hayley remains in her coy silence, allowing Kira to speak up for both of them. "Because you lived there and Hayley and I are merely tourists…I just wish this audition wasn't tomorrow morning, I don't feel ready."

"Maybe you should get some rest?" Hayley suggests, flicking me a quick glance.

Kira flops back in her seat. "I'm too wired to sleep," she admits. "Besides, I haven't seen Dr. O for ages…surely there's lots I've missed out on."

Hayley shakes her head, clearly concealing a laugh. I roll my eyes. "A new alien empire threatened to take over Earth, but I stopped them," I state blandly. "Asides from that-."

My cell phone starts ringing and I probably wouldn't have recognized the familiar chime, had Hayley not shoveled it in my face. No one ever calls me at ten o'clock at night.

No one, except for her.

Suddenly feeling strangely awkward at this second, I merely stare at the lit up screen, before Kira's over-the-shoulder gaze entices me to answer.

"Yeah?" Gees, that was rude of me.

"H-hi, it's me."

"Hi 'me'," I counter, unable to resist myself. I quickly conceal my nervous grin as she speaks up again.

"Sorry to call you so late, but you'll never believe who I just had dinner with…"

Why does Kimberly do this to herself? Why does she insist on repeating mistakes, despite her being someone I've always considered to be intelligent?

More importantly, why does she do this to me?

"Don't tell me you went to dinner with him and had a great time," is all I say, hoping she's not about to tell me she's back on with _him_.

By this time, my scattered conversation is drawing growing curiosity from the two women next to me as you can well imagine.

"Where are you?" Kimberly suddenly asks. "Are you with someone else?"

"I'm in the car," I state, as though to reassure her. "Tell me about your dinner."

"I had dinner with Jason…he's back, here in Angel Grove."

I can't conceal a smile at this point. I want to shout 'Halleluiah', but instead I just exclaim in response: "How is he? Man, it's been years since that lousy good-for-nothing even sent me a Christmas card," I share with good humor.

"He looks great," Kimberly enthuses, "But I don't know how long he'll be in town for. I didn't mention anything to him, but I'm sure he'd love the chance to catch up with you."

I think about it for a moment. It seems almost too planned, but I can't argue with the small part of me that is still easily swayed by Kimberly.

"Um, yeah that sounds like a good idea," I agree. "I'll speak to you soon."

"Okay, bye."

I pass the cell back over to Hayley and say nothing, waiting for Kira to harp up.

One, two, three, four, five-.

"So, who's the girl?" she teases within six seconds.

I smile a little. "An old friend," I reveal. "Now you guys can do me a favor…"

* * *

I spoke to Kimberly again tonight. After I had hit the smooth run toward the center of Angel Grove and realized I had no idea where exactly I was going, I knew I didn't have a choice about it. But we didn't talk for long. It was pretty late and she sounded tired. So she told me whereabouts Jason was staying and I said my goodbye pretty shortly after that.

Kira just kept on giving me shit about it in her own 'special' way. You see, she and my most recent ranger teammates find it rather amusing that I don't really date. Trust me, I've heard enough of their snide little comments when they think I'm not listening.

"How am I supposed to find my way out of this place?" Hayley asks, as I hope out of the driver seat and pull my small night bag out of the trunk.

I slam the lid close and try to smile reassuringly as she gets behind the wheel. "I've left the map in the glove box, just follow this road to Jackson Boulevard, turn right and follow that up, and then-."

"It's fine, we'll just use the map," Kira cuts me off, offering me a fake smile of confidence.

"Call me if you get lost," I offer. "And good luck, Kira."

"We will," Kira calls out, popping her head out of the window as Hayley pulls the car away. "And thanks! Have fun!" she gushes, her voice draining out as the car disappears into the distance.

I actually miss them a little, but that's the safe side of me that I told you about. Now it's time to see someone else whom I spent a whole lot of other years missing.

Jason Lee Scott. He was the token best friend, the one who 'got' me and was more chivalrous about everything then I could ever be. Put it this way, I know he loved kicking my ass all over those workout mats at our old teenage hangout, but he was never nasty about it. Like I said, he was just cool, just Jason.

My eyes skim over my watch as I move my hand to knock on his motel door. It's eleven thirty and I could have just gone to bed in my room booked next door and left the reunion to the morning, but that would have been too strange.

"Tommy!" he lets out in a voice that's still as deep as ever, but his eyes are really, really shocked.

I automatically give him a hug, patting him firmly on the back at least a dozen times, as though to make up for all the years in between. He's lost weight, I can feel it beneath the shirt he's wearing, but he's banging me on the back twice as hard just like the old days.

I push on through to his room. "Kim told me you were in town, bro, and I knew I had no choice but to come and hunt you down for five years worth of Christmas cards and boring birthday calls that you missed."

He chuckles and we slap hands again as I drop down on the couch and he takes the edge of his bed. We're already acting like a couple of cocky eighteen year olds.

"The visit wasn't planned," he says more seriously. "It was all last minute."

"Why aren't you staying with your parents?" I ask, assuming that both Mr. and Mrs. Scott still live in Angel Grove. I always assumed that Zedd would become president of the USA before Jason's mother would volunteer to leave her birth city.

He looks a little uncomfortable. "Long story, my bro, not one for tonight," he replies. "I see you chopped the girly-locks off…"

"Tooshay," I counter, "I see you gave up your gym membership half a decade ago…"

Just like the old days. God, I've missed him.

I watch as he tosses a jacket and other pieces of clothing off the bed and onto the ground, arranging himself more comfortably.

"I never would have guessed you and Kim had even thought about each other in the last ten years," he shares. "Boy was I knocked off my chair when she told me you guys have spoken at least fifty times since the last time I spoke to her."

"Life works in mysterious ways…I would have thought I would have seen you at least fifty times since we last saw each other…"

I can tell he feels bad, which isn't my intention. "Life's been mad."

"I've fought off an evil mob of aliens with a selection of my most eccentric students, while attempting not to feel like I fell through a time warp and landed back in the year 1995…reckon you can beat that?"

Jason shakes his head. "I was gonna come down there and check it all out for myself…I saw the black ranger doing his thing on the news every night and I knew without a doubt it was you…but tell me, what happened about a pink ranger?"

I fake a glare and he bounces his eyebrows around amusingly until he clears his throat, walking over to the mini bar.

"You thirsty?" he asks me.

"What you got?"

He opens it and stares inside. "Probably enough to get a skunk drunk…feel like a Pepsi instead?"

I nod and he chucks one at me, literally chucks it- testing my reflexes. Just like we used to test each other day after day, wanting the other to do well, but enjoying it when they failed. Only a little, not seriously- at least I did, anyway.

We both gulp our drinks for a moment. "When was the last time you saw Kim?" he asks me.

It's clear he's got Kimberly on the brain; I know what that's like.

"It's been a year, maybe more…just for coffee and lunch, that sort of thing."

"She seems well…a little scattered." Again, he looks amused. "I thought she was married."

I want to laugh out sarcastically. "To be honest, I don't think Kim will ever get married…she's happy how she is, I just think she's afraid to accept it."

Jason frowns a little and I shake my head dismissively. "Long story," I elaborate. "Tell me about you. You disappeared off the face of the planet six years ago. Did you go back to that girl of yours in Europe?"

"Nuh, I actually went to Chicago for a while, then I spent a few months touring Japan with my brother. I was in Canada for a few years after that, and now finally I'm back in California."

"You coming back here?"

I don't think he can shake his head any quicker. "Not to Angel Grove, that's for sure…I'll stay around for the while, do the family thing and then move on again."

I rest my head against the top of the chair feeling every muscle literally relax. Hayley had gotten it so right; it was definitely a good idea to get away from those God damned essays.

I suddenly flick my gaze at him, a swift thought coming to me. "What exactly is it that you do, anyway?"

Again, another strange look behind his actual glance- what I mean by that is I can tell the question makes him awkward, despite his best intention of looking otherwise.

He rubs the base of his neck. "Not a whole lot at the moment," he admits, clearing his throat. "As Kimberly put it to me tonight, it's a bit like a transitional stage."

I raise my eyebrows, and nod. "Cool…"

Jason puts his drink down on the nightstand beside his bed and chuckles a little unexpectedly.

"You don't really want to sit around and talk like a bunch of old women, do you?" he asks with a mischievous grin.

I gesture with my hands. "You got a better idea?"

He motions to the television opposite his bed and reaches for the remote, flicking it on.

"It's called cable," he responds and I nod in mutual appreciation. "Let's leave the talking till tomorrow, bro."

--

_**Chapter 4 - Kimberly's Morning**_

But it's been literally forever since I've been here with Tommy. In fact, the last time we'd been here I'd only been sixteen and wept beneath the moonlight as Tommy hugged me to his chest and promised we'd always be together.


	4. Kimberly's Morning

**Afterglow**

Chanelle Summer

Chapter 4 – Kimberly's Morning

* * *

I drink a lot of coffee. Three cups with breakfast, three or four during the day, and another few at night, depending on whether I feel like some wine or caffeine. That all depends on how my day's been. Yes, I drink a lot. But it's the only sinful thing I ever indulge in, so I figure it's not a big deal.

The aroma of my second cup for the day is tantalizing my senses as I sit here at my breakfast bar and flick through the Angel Grove phone book. I'm feeling so hyped with sentimentality just thinking about how much fun I had had with Jason last night.

I feel ten years younger. I really wonder what all the others are doing now? Where they are in their lives?

I know that Adam Park is still in Angel Grove. He works for an accountancy firm, Park-Richardson Financial services, his name well known and respected. Occasionally he's passed the gallery, or we've bumped into each other at the grocery store, but we've never really moved passed that point. He's busy; I'm not really, but always make it seem that way.

We always greet each other with over-enthusiasm, gushing on how the other looks really great, both of us commenting that it's been way too long since we last caught up, and then of course there's the question about whether or not we've seen or heard from the others.

My former teammates were all pretty amazing people. They were too big for this cosmopolitan city to contain them, though. It was as though the moment they all were granted a pardon from their ranger duties, they didn't waste a single minute before jetting off elsewhere. We all did it. Even I did. But that silly little part of me missed Angel Grove too much.

I flick through the book, stopping at the 'P' listing and scroll through the names, trying to locate Adam's number.

It would be great to have a reunion. Even if there's only four of us.

I reach over to grab my phone, but pause mid-movement as I notice my answering machine display flashing. I don't even remember anyone calling, but then again I was out late last night and didn't really take much notice when I got in.

Kim, it's Luke. Are you there?…(sigh) You're obviously out, I'll come around tomorrow morning.

I'm frozen. Oh my God, he's coming over today? This morning?

I stand up too quickly, spinning around and immediately race to my bedroom. I have skirts and shirts draped everywhere, because I'm at least a week overdue for a trip to the laundry. But I need to change.

I want to impress him.

Dramatically pulling my nightgown off, I reach for a pink sweater and jeans in my wardrobe and scamper to pull them on. Luke always loved me dressed in pink. I want him to look at me this morning and remember that.

To remember how much he loves me. This is going to be my last chance with him.

Knock, knock, knock.

I freeze again, as I carefully zip my jeans up. I take a deep breath, and walk out toward the door, holding the air in my lungs as I pause with my hand on the handle.

"Who is it?"

"It's Luke."

"_It's Luke"?_ Why did he say that like that, in that…_that_ tone?

I pull open the door, swallowing and then almost start coughing as I flinch on seeing him.

He has a box in his hands. And it's filled with my stuff.

My eyes fall to the floor and I numbly step back, feeling tears literally bubble inside my head. He looks just as awkward as I feel devastated and I only manage to look at him as I close the door and watch him lower the carton of belongings onto my couch.

I feel so hurt. So hurt! I just want to cry like a baby, but I don't.

"Didn't take you long," I state bitterly instead.

The way he's standing is like we're strangers, like he's never been in my apartment before. He's forgotten that he used to live here with me; that we used to eat breakfast near that window in the corner; that we made love on that exact couch half a dozen times because we felt like it.

He should have just abandoned the box at the door and spared us this conversation.

"What are you doing with that?" I ask, pointing weakly at the box.

"There's no point in me taking this stuff to Seattle. I'm going next week and I need to clear out before the final inspection."

I chew a little on my lip, and try to casually walk over to it, my hand feebly feeling through my old belongings.

"You really didn't have to bring this back, you love this CD," I look at him.

"I'm gonna go," he says, walking toward the door.

I breathe out sharply. "Don't you want to talk about this?"

"We talked enough about this the other day, Kim…"

I lower my head rubbing my fingers over the folds in my forehead. I can feel myself sniffling, losing the battle with my emotions.

"Kim-."

I start to sob as he fails to finish my name. "I'm so sorry…Please, Luke…"

"We need to just make a break," he offers, and even though I'm not looking at him, I can hear the sentiment in his tone. This is hard on him.

And I know he's right.

So he leaves, not saying another word, not a goodbye, not a promise to write or to call. Out of the two times we've done this before in years and years, this is the worst. This is for good, and I can tell that from his voice. This is what I wanted, but didn't want at the same time.

And I cry. Alone; for him, for me. For us, for everything that could have been, and everything that we had and lost because of me. Already I miss him. This isn't like the other times, where it was almost like a holiday to get away from him. I suddenly wonder what on earth have I done. Have I lost the greatest opportunity in my life?

The phone rings as I find myself crouched against a bare wall, hugging myself tightly and wiping my nose on my knees like a little child. I don't want to answer it, but I don't want some stupid message left on my machine again. For all I know, it's Carmel calling to arrange a shopping expedition on our only day off.

"Yeah?" I speak so unenthusiastically that whoever is on the other end is probably going to think they've gotten the wrong number.

"Kim? Is that you?"

Tommy…

I move my head away from the handset and quickly blow my nose, before returning it to my ear. "Hi Tommy," I try to sound casual.

There's a pause from his end. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I've just got a hangover," I straight out lie, as though it's no big deal.

I can literally _hear_ him frown. "I've caught up with Jase and thought you might like to join us for brunch?"

No, I'd rather sit on my couch and reminisce about Luke all day…

"Sure," I chirp out so falsely. I take a deep breath. I want to tell Tommy what's happened, but I'm fairly certain he doesn't want to know. Besides, it's probably best for me to get away from this house full of scattered memories.

"Where did you have in mind?"

* * *

There are a few major places from my childhood years that I will never forget, no matter how far I roam or how old I get. They are the places where only big things happened- where magic was made, or where you can remember things like a yummy smell or funny moments.

Angel Grove is full of places like that for me. I guess that's why I've always come back here, and why that domino effect I was talking about earlier tends to hit me so often. Angel Grove lake, nowadays magnificently landscaped, was the spot where I shared my first kiss with Tommy; Jason's family home that I pass on my way to work some days, is the place I had broken curfew at more times than my mother ever caught me. I can still remember all the times Mrs. Scott would find me watching television in her son's bedroom at ten o'clock at night and instead of questioning it, would ask me if I wanted anything to eat.

Then there was the library- my secret hide out during the many occasions I had arrived home from school to find my parents throwing their hate words at each other. The local grocery store; my old High School and Ardon's Lookout, which I haven't been to in years. It still sticks in my mind, but not for the reasons that you are probably thinking- I've actually never done 'that' in a car before…for me, the reason that lookout is so special, is because of the spectacular view of Angel Grove- and for the knowledgeable eye of a select few, it's one of the only places in the hills where our long-fallen ranger Command Center used to rest can be seen with a good set of binoculars.

But out of all the places that make me smile or sigh as I pass them by, the place that still owns much of my fondness, is Ernie's old Youth Center and Juice Bar- the place for smoothies, swapping gossip and simply chilling out with friends. Nowadays, it serves as a licensed Pancake bar with funky jazz themes throughout, but the fundamental parts are still the same. Out of all the places for me to catch up with two high school friends, this is definitely a winning pick.

Taking one last glance in the rear view mirror, I flick my hair back over my shoulder as I get out and lock my car, strolling toward the grander entrance. As I push through the windowed doors, I wonder what on earth Ernie must have thought when he heard what the new owners had done with his pride and joy. I reckon he must have wished for a while that he never had left. He would have loved it.

I feel nervous. A little hypo, actually. All the sad thoughts have been left at the door.

I spot Jason, first. He is sitting near one of the windows, the table perched perfectly to see out to the lake. He's reading the menu and not looking in my direction, so it gives me a perfect opportunity to look at him while I know he can't notice. I really just cannot believe how much his clothing sense has changed- from this short distance, he is by far the best-looking guy here.

"Hi," I wave a little eccentrically, as I drop down in the seat beside him.

He smiles warmly and immediately gives me his attention. "I cannot believe this place has thirty five different smoothie flavors…I never thought anyone could beat Ernie's selection of twelve."

I giggle a little, but a pang of guilt suddenly drives into me; it almost doesn't feel right for me to be enjoying this moment, after such a crummy morning.

"You okay?" Jason asks.

I nod, but before I can smile with reassurance, my eyes find their way over his shoulder, drawn like a magnet to quite honestly the greatest looking guy, period. I know that I should be guilty for even thinking about Tommy like that, but who cares- it's only thoughts.

"Tommy," I beam warmly, standing up and reaching around his broad shoulders with wide arms.

He doesn't seem to hug me back quite so openly, but at least he doesn't push me away. Tommy always was a gentleman; and as I slowly pull back, he even pecks me on the cheek. It feels a little like a funeral or wedding kiss, but I return the gesture quickly, before hopping back in my chair like an excited child.

"I didn't realize how late it was," Tommy started, as I picked up one of the menus. "If you want to go somewhere else, we can."

"No," I shake my head. "This is perfect…I've always loved the butterscotch crepes here," I share, without realizing what I'm saying.

Great. One sentence into my catch up and I've already made a reference to Luke, which means I'm probably about to start crying again unless someone changes the subject.

So, I do just that.

"What time did you get into town last night?" I decide to ask Tommy, thinking it's a good way to start off.

"Some friends dropped me off just after eleven. It kinda worked out funny, because I was actually on my way to LA."

"I love LA," I share with genuine interest. "It's a very distracting place to live, though- you soon get tired of living amongst it all."

To my surprise, Tommy seemed engaged by my response, nodding his head subtly. "I couldn't agree anymore- I was more than happy to have an excuse to avoid the place."

So, we talk like this for a good ten minutes, ordering in between, before returning back to the subject of careers. Despite talking briefly to Tommy on many occasions about his role at Reefside High school, I'm still so caught up and curious to hear more about it. I guess just to watch him actually talk about it and really see how he came to the decision in the first place.

He's clearly not stupid. He never was, but then again I used to consider myself to be a very good student. Hearing Tommy talk about his life now is making me feel rather silly.

"…how do you go about dealing with kids that age?" Jason is asking Tommy. "It seems every week they've got some story on there about how kids are out of control."

Tommy laughed a little at the comment and I couldn't help but smile at the passion he was emitting. "Actually, from my experiences, kids haven't changed much at all. You still have your Bulk and Skulls- there's a Billy in every class and even a few rangers…"

Jason shakes his head. "You're mental, man- my body aches just thinking about hopping back into that suit again."

"It would be kind of exciting," I share, my mind suddenly snapping to thoughts of me running around as a power ranger again after all this time.

"Kim?"

I shake the fuzz from my head, suddenly realizing I've so famously zoned out.

"I think Kim wished she was part of your team," Jason comments with a sly smile.

I roll my eyes as Tommy shares a bemused expression. "I'm afraid there was no pink powers…"

I flinch a little and Jason is playing the funny guy. "Now tell me Tommy, why was that exactly?"

Tommy clears his throat, his eyes betraying him. "Just the way it turned out."

_Yeah, right._

"I don't think Tommy wanted a pink ranger because he was afraid of the competition," I tease, giving a playfully smug look.

Jason snickers a little. "Or he didn't want to risk drowning in the office pool again."

You would have thought such a comment, although harmless in it's intent, would have caused some awkwardness; maybe even a cool glance. I mean, I sure as hell wanted to reach over and slap Jason, but something clicked in my head and I suddenly realized how true and fairly hilarious the comment was.

And we all chuckle at it. Even Tommy raises his eyebrows a little embarrassed, but I can tell he's cool with it; after all, for one guy, he sure as hell made up the statistics when it came to inter-ranger dating with the only two pink rangers he ever fought beside.

See, every thing's good, great. I'm not even thinking about Luke; okay, I obviously thought about him to tell you that I'm not, but really, I'm fine. I'm thinking about Tommy instead.

The catalyst.

* * *

Brunch was gorgeous, just as I had expected. Seeing Tommy and Jason together again was as heartwarming as it should have been. I didn't speak a lot, because I didn't want to give my morning away, but was genuinely taken to a happy place and that was definitely a good thing.

Jason skipped out on us about forty minutes after we'd finished the last drop of sugary sauce and final sip of coffee. I think we probably would have kept talking the entire day and would have ended up eating afternoon tea and dinner there had he not broken away. It was all pleasant conversations, but it was really good. They both seemed to be going places- not that I could have expected anything otherwise.

Okay, so Tommy seems to be going places. Jason…seems to be going places, without actually saying where those places were. Maybe he ran into a lot of money and didn't need to work? Perhaps he won a lottery and didn't want anybody to know about it. I don't know, I guess it just seems a little odd that he seems so content on doing not that much.

If only I could be that lucky.

"This place has really changed."

I look up at Tommy, still adjusting to how tall above me he stands. I almost need visors just to look at his face, I'm practically staring into the sun.

"Yeah, it seems to be getting prettier and prettier with every year," I marvel. "I guess they figure it's been over ten years since the last alien creature stomped its way through here, so it's safe enough to actually plant some flowers."

He chuckles a little in a sentimental way, just as I smile inside as I gaze out at the flat vast of water that holds so many memories, like the ones I mentioned on the drive to see Tommy and Jason today. Remember Angel Grove Lake? I come here all the time, usually to jog when I can get my butt out of bed early enough, and on occasions I've met up with Carmel and John for a picnic or two.

But it's been literally forever since I've been here with Tommy. In fact, the last time we'd been here I'd only been sixteen and wept beneath the moonlight as Tommy hugged me to his chest and promised we'd always be together.

That was only a matter of hugs, promises, letters and phone calls before everything changed.

I sigh at the thought. In this very quiet place right now I wonder what would have happened if I'd never sent Tommy that letter?

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

I feel myself blush a little and decide to only share my half-truth. "I was thinking about all the times we used to come down here and fight putties, play tag, go swimming…"

"And make out and hide up in that tree over there-." He points over to a large, archaic tree on the other side of the lake and I smile with him.

"Man, I really miss it here sometimes," he shares with sentimental eyes.

I allow him his private moment before asking. "Why did you choose to settle down in Reefside after finishing college instead of coming home?"

He purses his lips a little in deep thought. "Honestly?"

I smile a little curiously. "Honestly," I coax him.

He sighs. "At the time I had no money, no job…there were lots of other complicated times in my life and then of course, there was the girl."

"Who?"

"She, uh, was someone I met at college and we were good friends…I thought once we got away from such an intense environment that we might have had a chance for something else to develop. We rented this two-bedroom cardboard box above a record store but after a lot of other complicated stuff, I eventually found out that I love serenity more than anything else."

"Isn't this serenity?" I question, gesturing with my glance out to the peaceful mass before us.

"Yes," he looks at me. "Yes, it is…but I needed mental serenity as well. It was too much to come back here without everything that I'd left behind. I don't even think any of the guys were even here at that time."

"We'd seen the universe, but wanted to see Earth as well," I comment with understanding. "Had I known the amazing shopping in Paris back then, I probably would have moved with mom and Perrie without a second's thought."

_And I wouldn't have gone to Florida, had an amazing time, chosen not to go to college because of it, sent that letter and lost Tommy, met Luke and fallen in love only to lose him ten years later…_

Silence again. Not awkward at all, because I don't have a moment to think about any weirdness. Oh, no, no, no. I'm just so lost. I'll always look at this lake differently when he's by my side.

I can tell he probably wants to leave soon. Is it wrong for me not to want him to leave just yet?

"I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight?" I suddenly ask, completely left of field. I look at him. "I can call Jason and we can make a night of it."

His eyes are soft. "Yeah, sure…that would be great."

"Great," I chirp out, bobbing my head a little.

And then we both look back out at the lake. I wonder if he's looking at the little spot in the corner of our line of sight- where the boulder formation still remains and the image of two nervous high-school kids will forever be etched in our memories.

--

_Chapter 5 – Jason's Decision_

"Take that back!" I bark, grabbing his shirt at his shoulders and jerking him hard, waiting for him to counter. "Don't you even breath another word about her, okay?"

I shove him back with little care and practically gnaw at my face, breathing heavily and staring at him intently as he gathers himself.


	5. Jason's Decision

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 5 – Jason's Decision**

I'm trying not to think too much about brunch today with Tommy and Kimberly now that I've left the two on their own. Don't get me wrong- I actually had a really good time and for what it's worth, I think they both did too. But I had too much on my mind and I still do.

Worst thing is, I don't know where to turn. I only hope that when I turn up there, that I'll actually find some luck and there will be no one home.

Eden Street. Lots of big trees; Every house a double story, manicured lawns and gardens highlighting that the owners are not rich, but have been there for a long time. When I was still living at home, we never had a new neighbor in the entire sixteen years and by that time everyone knew each other like old friends.

It still warms my heart a little.

Funnily enough, as I reach my childhood home, I continue on to the next driveway and swing in. It's still a little amusing to think that mom and dad actually moved after all this time, and when they did, they moved literally to the house next door. My mother said that with my brother and I long gone and busy in our own lives, she and my father needed to downsize. She always used to comment to my dad after weekend barbecues to the house next-door that she loved the layout, the décor- the way Mrs. Bourke had their living room laid out.

So, when Mr. and Mrs. Bourke finally decided to leave Eden Street just over twelve months ago, my mother happily shifted into their house.

It's still a little strange. I guess a part of me wants to go next-door to the house where I have so many memories, but I don't know the new occupants at all. I wonder if they found my secret hiding spot in the air-conditioning vent where I used to hide my power morpher during the night…

"Hello?" I call out wearily, as I walk through the entrance of my parents' new home.

Everything is so tidy. I remember how mom used to continually harass Jeremy and I to put our dirty shoes out of the hallway and how I used to drop my school backpack in the middle of the floor each afternoon without ever thinking about it.

"Where are mom and Kay?" I ask my older brother as I walk into the open living area and find him sitting alone, sucking on a beer with the television blaring like usual.

"They went shopping and to go check out that new department store downtown," he replies.

I open the fridge and grab a beer for myself, before walking over to drop on the couch beside him. He gives me a look, but I ignore it. Such looks merely roll over and slip off my spine nowadays I am so passed used to them.

I take a swig of beer. "Dad?"

He holds his disapproving look a moment longer before replying. "He had to work…" and then back to the look again. "Should you be drinking that?"

I sigh fairly loudly, but try not to bite, given that I know he's only questioning it because he cares about me.

"I'm sure a beer won't make me drop dead," I comment with a hint of sarcasm, taking another swig of the brew before he can say anything otherwise.

My brother is a mad sports fan, his obsession with spending hours in front of the television so well-known that his wife Kay has threatened him with divorce twice, stating that as the major contributing factor. I'm being serious, too. Football, basketball, baseball; literally any sport involving a ball, he follows like a crazed girl with a high school crush.

And with all that cheering and betting, comes a lot of drinking. He's not in such good shape nowadays, thanks to a fifty-hour a week office job and too many rounds at the pub back in his hometown of Denver. I've tried pointing out that he'll probably kill himself to death with all the booze he dumps into his stomach every day, but the comment would be useless.

It would just give him an excuse to lecture me back.

"Mom tried calling you this morning, but she said you weren't there…"

For a moment, I'm actually mesmerized by the television and vaguely reply, "I had my cell on and I never got any call."

There's these big pauses in between this conversation because neither one of us really cares about it.

"You never have your cell on you when you're at the hospital."

I instantly lower myself in the cushy seat. "I wasn't at the hospital," I state as casually as possible.

Jeremy actually grabs the remote forcibly at this moment and flicks the television off, throwing the remote back on the coffee table and turning to stare me dead in the eye.

"I thought that new treatment started today? Mom's been talking about it all month."

"Yeah, well I've decided not to have it. It's better this way."

He shakes his head, drinking the last remnants in his glass, before replying, "You're a stupid son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"

I sigh, pushing myself off the couch. "Glad I know where to come for support," I mention quietly, as I start to walk away.

"You could have at least told mom, it's the only thing keeping her together-."

"Will you do me a favor and just stop, right there, right now?" I practically snap at him, dropping the can of beer loudly on the kitchen counter. "And then do me another favor and pack up and go back to Denver. At least there I don't have to listen to your bullshit lectures like you give a crap."

I start for the hallway, pulling my shoes on but not bothering to do the laces up before I leave. I'm pretty sure he said something as I walked out, but I didn't bother to listen. I have enough emotion to burden to last me a lifetime.

* * *

I'm seriously considering leaving Angel Grove right now. Now that I'm three streets away from my parents' house, driving around in zigzags and conveniently inching toward the main arterial this side of town, I'm almost at that point.

Why am I even here? There's no reason anymore, she's gone and I'm left floating around. I didn't plan for this at all. That makes me a little angry, because I knew that Cindy would die almost a year or more before that fateful day last week.

Guess I was so focused on making her life as precious as possible, that I didn't think about what I would do once that was all over.

It is my turn now, and there is no one here to see the world for me, to make it worth even bothering salvaging some sort of normal life. But there's no one back at the tiny place I consider home, either.

I sigh. I guess that's what happens when there are only two…it's a little like back in the old days, when I was still at school and serving as the red ranger. There were so many times-literally dozens that pushed me to the limit, but there was always someone there. There's a strength and comfort in numbers that my eternal mentor Zordon understood, and it wasn't just beneficial in battle.

Numbers always meant there was a backup, emotionally, mentally…

I can suddenly hear my cell ringing from the center console of the car. People have the tendency to call me whenever I don't feel like talking, and I'm not really a phone person at the best of times. I bet you it's Jeremy or maybe it's mom. Either way, I can't see the conversation lasting very long.

"Hello?"

"Jason? It's Geraldine…"

"H-hi, just hang on a tic," I tell her, as I throw my indicator on and smoothly pull over to the side of the road.

I turn the engine off and wait for her to talk, but she doesn't. She knows me very well, even better than my own family does.

"I guess Kathleen called you?" I ask her, referring to my mother.

"Your brother called me, Jason-." I sigh impatiently and she pauses and then continues. "He was very concerned that you did not go for your treatment this morning."

"I made a decision, and I'm not going to do it. My doctors are aware of my decision. I plan on talking to my parents and Jeremy about it, but not today. Not today."

This is really so, so hard. Geraldine was Cindy's mother, a nurse of all things, and a lady who remains one of the most prominent pillars of emotional strength I've ever been blessed to know. She's one of the only people right now I can stand to talk to because she doesn't fly off the handle, even when I know darn well that we have substantial differences of opinions.

I sigh. "Do me a favor and if my mother calls, can you at least remind her that no one guaranteed anything with this treatment- they weren't serving me remission on a silver platter. I want to talk to her, but I can't do it if she's not going to listen. Honest to God, I don't need this shit from them right now."

"Kathleen and Ian are welcome to call me at any time, Jason, but as for your decision on this new treatment, I'm not honestly sure that you're in the right state of mind to be making such a decision. I urge you to reconsider at a time when you are stable enough to consider what you might be giving up for what."

I close my eyes. "I've had weeks to consider this, Geraldine…I-I-." I stop, licking my tongue around the inside of my mouth. "I don't want to spend the last time in my life locked up in a hospital bed waiting to go. I promised Cindy I wouldn't do that."

I didn't want to bring her daughter into the conversation, but I really have little choice to get my point across. Nothing hits harder than loss of love, a personal experience that changes your life in more ways than one.

Nothing is more difficult then standing your ground and learning from someone else's mistake.

God, I'm almost crying here, just as I can hear the shake in her voice through the phone.

I sniff loudly. "I'm having a shit of a day…"

"Where are you now?"

I probably would laugh if the timing was more appropriate. "I'll be fine," is all I say. "I need some time out."

"When are you coming back to Malua?"

"I don't know…maybe soon, I don't know…I've really got to deal with some things here before I come back. Now that this treatment schedule's off, I might stick around at home for a while, once I get back."

I can suddenly here a dull, intermittent noise from my phone and quickly glance at the display, sighing loudly. Like I said, people love to call me when I don't really want to speak to them.

I clear my voice again and put the phone back to my ear. "Listen Geraldine, thanks for the call, but I've got to go…I'll speak to you soon."

"Take care, Jason."

I wait until I hear her line drop out, and then quickly answer the newly incoming call before it stops.

"Yeah hello?" I answer.

"Hi Jason, it's Kimberly…you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, not sounding very convincing, but not really trying to. "I've got a wicked headache."

"Oh. Well, I was going to see if you were free for dinner at my place, Tommy's coming over and I'm cooking."

I know I should, I mean, I should at least be polite and go, but I really don't have it in me. I don't want them to see me like this.

Besides, who knows, they'll probably enjoy the time a whole lot more without me there, if you know what I mean.

"Yeah uh, look that's sweet of you Kim, but I already got plans with my folks for dinner tonight…"

"Oh…Oh, okay."

"But I appreciate the invite," I tell her honestly. "I'll catch up with you soon."

"Sure, no worries, talk to you later."

* * *

I sigh, as I gently rest my knuckles against the glossy wood and gently tap it repeatedly. I can hear the television on from inside, and general sounds of movement and life, but I'm really not sure at this point if they can hear that I'm standing here out the front.

Still, I have time to escape if I want to. It's approaching six o'clock and if I hurry, I could duck down the road and grab some takeout and take it back to my motel room.

The door swings open and I instantly straighten up, expecting one hell of an icy reception. Instead, imagine my surprise as my eldest brother grabs hold of my shirt and pulls me into a bear hug, practically burying his face into my shoulder.

Now all I want to do is apologize. "Look man, I'm-."

"Come inside, mom's serving up a roast," Jeremy brushes me off, moving to the side so I can push on through.

I stop as he closes the door behind us, and I put my hands up. "I don't want to go in there like this," I tell him. "Can we please go somewhere quiet and talk some stuff through before I go out there and are forced to tell mom?"

"Jeremy?" My mother's voice sounds from the kitchen and I feebly step back, backing myself into the wall as she walks around the corner and stops.

Jeremy throws one last look my way and I honestly don't know where to look.

"Jason..." my mother's voice is calm, but empty; stale.

"Mom..."

"You should have called and told me you were coming before hand, I would have put on more vegetables," she fusses.

I sigh, reaching out with my hand. "Mom, it's okay, I'm not here for dinner."

"Then why are you here, Jason? To consult us openly about a decision that you've already gone ahead and made?"

"Mom, just take it easy on him, okay?" Jeremy finally speaks up, taking up the role of the peacemaker- my usual role.

My mother's chin is trembling, her eyes as sad as I've ever seen them and I fold. I walk over and wrap my arms around her body, holding her close to me for as long as possible while I think about what I'm going to say next.

She lets me go and cups my face between her skinny hands. "You look tired, have you been sleeping?"

"Yes, mom..."

The sadness leaves her eyes. "That shirt is bigger on you than when I bought it for you last Christmas...how much weight are you losing?"

"Okay, mom," Jeremy intervenes, grabbing hold of her shoulders and gently directing her back out the archway.

I stand in the short hall on my own for a moment, waiting and feeling like a complete stranger. I can hear my mother and brother exchange clearly heated words in whispers around the corner. As if they can believe that I can't tell that they're talking about me...

"Thanks for that," I offer Jeremy as he reappears and we head out through the front door for some well needed privacy.

I lean against the railing of the porch as Jeremy takes a seat on one of the chairs.

"You gotta understand, Jase, mom has been through a lot."

"Yeah, yeah I know that," I nod largely.

"She's..." he sighs. "She's losing the plot, I think."

I remain quiet, looking out at the front garden which was as neat as ever.

"Jase?"

I look over at him, hands clasped, his forehead creased from a lifetime's worth of pressure.

"Are you gonna die? I mean, is this it, the end of the line?"

I can't say it. I can't tell him.

He releases a loud breath. "Damn it Jase, you could have told me things were going this way...you make me wait until we come down for Cindy's funeral and then throw it on me that I'm gonna be going to yours soon, too?"

I shake my head, "How was I supposed to tell you this over the phone, huh? Was I supposed to broadcast it at the Super Bowl so I could maybe grab some of your attention?"

"Fuck you, Jase!" Jeremy snaps, standing quickly to his feet. He stalks over, towering only slightly over me and throws his finger in my face. "You were the one who moved to the middle of nowhere, remember? You made us not care about you- spending all that time with that God-damned woman, and for what? What the hell did it-."

"Take that back!" I bark, grabbing his shirt at his shoulders and jerking him hard, waiting for him to counter. "Don't you even breathe another word about her, okay?"

I shove him back with little care and practically gnaw at my face, breathing heavily and staring at him intently as he regathers himself.

It's a standoff, but not a very good one.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk about Cindy like that," Jeremy apologizes quietly.

I can't look at him though. He's touched a nerve, but as much as I want to let loose and punch his teeth out with what little energy I have, the other part can't look his way because I feel like I'm about to cry in front of my big brother.

"Fuck it..." I hear him whisper angrily to himself.

I swallow heavily. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I really am..."

We level our gazes at each other. "How long have the doctors given you? I can take it Jase, whatever they said we can deal with it as a family, you know that..."

I take a deep breath and then laugh- yes, laugh bitterly. "They've given me anywhere between a few weeks up to a few months."

--

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**Teaser for Chapter 6 "Tommy's Cooking":**_

She pulls at the crusts. "This wasn't what I had in mind when I invited you over."

"What? Sitting cross-legged at your coffee table, eating carefully prepared peanut butter sandwiches and downing them with your favorite drop of white wine?" I motion to the tiny flame that burns between us. "We even have a classy centerpiece."


	6. Tommy's Cooking

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

Chapter 6 – Tommy's Cooking

* * *

I haven't been to Kimberly's apartment for nearly a year. It's one of the biggest one bedroom apartments I've seen going around, but the last time I saw it, it was as though she was trying to fill in all the gaps. She kept on apologizing for it. Sorry Tommy this, sorry Tommy that.

She wasn't used to living alone and told me she didn't know how to seal all the spots that were open following Luke's departure. He'd moved out only four days before I'd come around and it was the only reason I agreed to. It just would have been too weird otherwise. I'm not saying that because I've dated Kimberly in the past, but because I thought he shouldn't have moved back in with her after the first time they'd split up.

Now that the cab has dropped me only a short distance away from the entrance of the modernly designed building, I'm starting to feel a little awkward. I'm wearing a shirt and I feel a little overdressed. I brought her favorite wine, which I know of from one of our vague conversations a few months ago. I don't drink that much but she'd called me on a night I was downing a very rare scotch and cola and she revealed how much she loved a glass of Muscat de Beaulieu.

I take the stairs, one at a time, not rushing, trying to stay cool. I'm late, which is fine because Jason will already be there. My timing will be perfect.

Remember that phone conversation with Kimberly on her birthday and the mention of her infamous neighbor known as Mr. Fewster? Lucky me, he just happens to be standing at his front door as though expecting a visitor.

I smile tightly and plan to pass him, but he reaches for my shoulder with a fragile hand and I feel compelled to stop and acknowledge him.

"Good evening Mr. Fewster."

He's squinting at me as though he recognizes me, which isn't really a shock, given he looks to be about one hundred years old.

"Do I know you?" he asks me.

I try to smile politely. "My name's Tommy Oliver, I'm visiting your neighbor, Kim Hart."

"Who?"

I'm rolling my eyes inside, don't you worry about that. I could be here for years explaining to him that he's lived next-door to Kimberly for the past seven. After all, the last time I'd come to say goodbye and Kimberly hadn't answered the door, he'd tried to tell me that she didn't even live here anymore.

"Have a good night," is all I say, before I carefully turn my back to him and follow the corridor to the very end.

I can hear folk-like music floating from that direction, the sort of music you listen to with dim lights, cheese and wine.

I knock and wait patiently, chuckling a little to myself as I instantly hear her spring to life from the other side of the door.

"Just a minute!"

The sound of saucepans clambering together; Kimberly letting out a strange hoot, her footsteps bounding over the floorboards until she swings the door open.

Yes, I am definitely overdressed.

She wipes her hands on her apron, gesturing with her arm. "Come in, Tommy, get inside where it's warm."

I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, handing her the wine before following her past the fireplace and into her compact kitchen. She's zipping around between the stove and microwave as though she's in a race, which is kind of amusing to me given that she's not really a natural cook. She eats TV meals fours days a week, and takeout the other three, so do the math.

She quickly stirs a spoon in one of the pots, before settling it down and facing me. "It's going to be just you and I tonight, Jason couldn't make it," she reveals. "I hope you don't mind."

I blink. "No, no of course not."

_Talk about awkward._

She smiles gratefully, passing me two glasses to fill. I open the bottle and fill them each up, figuring I shouldn't stop myself from enjoying a drink or two.

I was on vacation after all. I wonder how Kira did with her audition?

"…I know he was very glad to get the call." Kimberly's talking away and I haven't even been paying attention.

I sit down on one of the stools and try to catch up by paying closer attention as she continues.

"Zack is still in London, no surprises there…Kat is in Australia…and Billy's parents have moved, so I have no idea where Billy is these days."

I warm inside at the thought of my old, genius friend. "Maybe he's still on Aquitar?"

Kimberly glances over her shoulder mid-stir and her lip curls up into an amused grin. "You know it took me months to actually believe you guys when you told me that story," she admits, shaking her head a little. "I would miss my friends too much."

I move my eyebrows without thinking. "Friends come and go," I state quietly, my fingers fiddling with the stem of my glass as though I've become entranced.

The air between us changes. I can just feel it grinding on both of us. She probably took my comment the wrong way, even though I didn't mean anything by it. But because she's stopped talking, I can tell that things have become weird.

We really don't have much to say to each other unless we talk about those few really good years of our lives. And how many times can you possibly talk about that? How much we kicked ass in that battle- the private little jokes we used to have about some of the others. You just kinda shrugged about it all now.

And that's basically where it stays. I'm just watching her cook from behind, staring as she attends to the meal with so much concentration. Something seems different about her. Usually on the phone she never shuts the hell up.

I glance around the kitchen, my eyes drifting to the adjoining bedroom, her door slightly ajar. Clothes are sprawled on the ground near her bed, and from what I can tell, her bed looks like it hasn't been made in two months. But all in all, her place looks emptier, as though she has cleaned up.

Some new paintings in the kitchen. Some kind of abstract, matching prints featuring cats. And beside the opening to her door, I notice a cardboard box with no lid, bright pink contents and CDs threatening to topple over its edge.

I suddenly hear her gasp loudly through clenched teeth and stumble off the stool as I watch the entire contents from on top of the stove go showering onto the tiles below. Kimberly's body jumps instinctively onto the bench behind her, the carefully prepared pasta meal and boiling water barely missing the tips of her bare toes.

Her mouth and eyes are wide open and I merely share her look of disbelief. I carefully step over the mess, trying to smile to remove the look on her face. I reach under her arms and carry her like a doll over the messy floor, lowering her down only at the point where I know she won't get her feet wet.

She slaps her hand on her thigh, pulling her apron over her head in defeat. "I knew I shouldn't have cooked," she comments dryly.

I chuckle a little, which catches a confused look from her at first, but she quickly manages a closed smile back. "You want to go out and grab something to eat?" she asks me.

I think about it seriously for a moment and decide not to give the easy answer. There was a reason Kimberly invited us over to her home, and I owe her that for a night.

"I think that we should both clean up this mess together, and then I'll make something," I suggest, not certain on how she'll respond.

She cocks her eyebrow. "You cook?"

I laugh a little and nod. "I usually manage to cook within the means of a fry pan," I tease her, knocking my shoulder playfully against hers.

She nods with a real smile. "It's a deal."

* * *

I have a laugh sitting in my belly. I mean the type of feeling resting right in your stomach, pushing so hard to come exploding out in some completely childish display.

The look on Kimberly's face is just a classic. Boy, she is trying so hard not to look annoyed, disappointed, to show how silly she feels. She's playing the nice girl, the type who pretends that she admires the smallest things in life.

I continue to stifle my laugh and take another bite, savoring the thick taste of peanut butter that shelters my tongue.

It's not like I promised I'd cook her Oysters Kilpatrick.

"Mmmm…"

She's faking it now.

"This is the best peanut butter sandwich I've ever had," she pretends with a dreamy gaze. "I bet you get all the girls with this deal."

I finally smile broadly at her, laughing softly as she takes a gulp of her wine.

"What can I say? I like peanut butter sandwiches."

She pulls at the crusts. "This wasn't what I had in mind when I invited you over."

"What? Sitting cross-legged at your coffee table, eating carefully prepared peanut butter sandwiches and downing them with your favorite drop of white wine?" I motion to the tiny flame that burns between us. "We even have a classy centerpiece."

She smiles and pretends to eat the simple meal before her with ecstasy, dissolving into a fit of giggles as I mimic her.

Yes, I'm having a good time, okay?

"I really like what you've done with your place," I offer, deciding to steer our conversation to something more 'mature' minded. "You actually decided to clear it out?"

The light in her eyes, the one I swear is pure beauty, dims slightly as she fiddles with something in her lap.

"I'm sure you saw the box near my bedroom door," she comments, courageously gazing at me to see if she can catch me out.

I nod.

"Luke was polite enough to signify our official end of all hope for us, by returning his favorite CDs to me and a sweater I always left behind at his place in case I got cold…" she laughs, but it's only bitterness. "I don't even listen to that music, I only bought those because of him- it's like he gave them back to me so I can have another reminder of him sitting around my apartment."

She takes a sip of wine, the muscles in her neck tense as she valiantly attempts to cool down. I, for one, know that I shouldn't have brought this subject up. I feel really bad about it. I mean, I'm sure she probably did a lot to deserve it, but there's something about this woman that makes it too easy to forgive her.

"When did this happen?" I ask her, despite knowing I shouldn't fuel the fire anymore.

She licks her lips a little. "He dropped that stuff off this morning. I knew it was coming, I just didn't want to see it for real…I feel like such a failure."

I rest my elbows on the table. "Why would you feel like a failure? There's two parts to a couple."

She shrugs meekly. "I guess it's because I've devoted pretty much my entire life to making it work with him, and I didn't get it. It's like I've wasted this huge slab of my life I can't ever get back," she smiles a little sadly at me and I wonder if there's anything more beneath her answer. "Sometimes I think it must be easier being alone."

I shake my head a little. "It's not all it's cracked up to be, Kim…"

She adjusts herself, as if to get comfortable and I continue.

"I like having my own space, and not having to feel that pressure that you talk about. But at the same time, when I'm at home by myself sometimes I think to myself that it would be nice to have someone else around."

"But you have a lot of close friends, right?" she asks with so much optimism. "I mean, was it the same this time around being a ranger? Did you feel that friendship all over again?"

I can't help but smile when I think about my more recent teammates. "They were great kids and still are, but they are just kids…and the whole damn time I felt torn between my duties to them as their teacher, and as their teammate. I was very fortunate that I had Hayley there to help with things along the way."

The candle between us flickers a little. I'm not sure why I've noticed that.

"Hayley's the one you went to college with, right?" Kimberly asks and I nod.

"She's a female version of Billy, only with a whole lot more confidence and a whole lot better looking…"

Kimberly laughs a little. "Billy wasn't that bad…" she says coyly.

I shrug it off, and reach for my napkin, running it over my mouth. "What's for desert?" I ask.

She smirks, moving her hands behind her and leaning back. "You have a choice between more wine, and that bowl of wax fruit on my bookshelf."

I shake my head. "You're a terrible host…" I comment playfully, but before she can reply, my cell starts ringing.

I actually feel a little guilty for answering it.

"Sorry," I apologize, fumbling for my cell and unclipping it from my belt.

I watch as she gazes elsewhere, as though pretending not to listen as I answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Are you out with that old friend of yours?" Hayley's voice asks and I immediately flick my gaze to Kimberly.

"How are things going?" I ask, deciding to ignore her comment all together. "Is Kira a rock star yet?"

"Not exactly…but I tell you what, she is better than most of these other kids here. Some music guru wants to see her tomorrow, so I'll let you know before we leave here to pick you up."

"Okay, sure," I'm actually trying to get her off the phone. "Say hi to Kira for me."

"Bye."

I end the call and attach the phone back to my belt, glancing sideways at Kimberly.

"You could have talked for longer," she states.

"Nuh, it's cool- they were just giving me an update…listen, I'm really sorry about you and Luke…I'm glad you told me. It is easier talking about this stuff face-to-face."

She smiles a little, so delicately. "Well, you were never a phone person. You always preferred to just talk…" she shrugs, an almost blush glowing from her cheeks. "I guess we both aren't very good phone people."

There it is. A reference to The Letter, all though I don't quite know whether she meant to make it or not. I try to read her eyes but our gazes are locked in this strange trance. She's waiting for me to react or say what she's wanted for so long.

But I don't say anything, even though in this five second space of paused time I feel like I'm falling in love with her eyes again.

She looks away, absently scratching her forearm and boom, it's all gone. Just like that.

I clear my throat and she looks back at me with those big, brown eyes again. "So desert…you were promising me some desert," I remind her, cleverly changing the subject.

She straightens herself up, flicking a hand through her long hair. "Well…" she flicks her tongue against her teeth before smiling. "I wasn't lying when I said I don't have any desert here to give you. But if you like, we can go and get some ice-cream across the street. I'll even pay; it can be my shout to say thanks for making such a spectacular dinner."

I hesitate gracefully, but then I think 'what the hell?' It's not like I hate being around her. It's actually been quite the opposite of that tonight. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean it like _that_. But blame my stupid testosterone or those gorgeous eyes of hers, because I'm drawn to her and I find her interesting.

And yes, it would be nice to have ice-cream with her.

She lets out a short giggle. "Jesus Tommy, I wasn't asking you to stay the night…"

I down the remainder of chardonnay that's warmed in my glass. "You've got yourself a date."

--

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**Teaser for Chapter 7 "Kimberly's Day Off":**_

He laughs a little. "Actually, this is my excuse to get away from it all- just don't tell anyone where to find me, okay?"

I giggle. "Your secret's safe with me…"


	7. Kimberly's Day Off

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter** **7** **–** **Kimberly's Day Off**

I'm staring at this painting. I'm considering all the different angles, pondering over why certain colors were used in certain ways and for the life of me, I still have no idea what it's supposed to be. The artist called the work "sliding landscape" and well I don't really see it, but I guess it's all in the eye of the beholder. I'm sure whoever buys it won't even care what it is, so long as it matches their wallpaper.

So I've been sitting here for something like thirty minutes, wondering where I should hang the thing. God, I'm so bad at this. I mean, I am good at my job and I actually love talking to customers and helping them pick something they like, but I'm really bad when it comes to choosing where to hang pictures. I think it's because I have to make a decision. And that's what I really suck at most of all.

A voice clears loudly from the doorway, before it huskily murmurs, "I need some help over here, I can't work out which canvas of splattered paint I prefer the most."

A grin spreads across my face, before I wriggle my eyebrows. "He's one of our most popular and influential local artists," I recite, moving around the back of the counter to stop before him. "Many of our customers are drawn to his use of luminous colors which create a feeling of summertime in any room requiring added warmth."

Jason seems a little impressed, but I quickly roll my eyes. "I've practiced that speech over a dozen times," I admit with a smaller smile.

He nods, and rests his arms on the counter. "Good to know they're not just hiring you for your good looks," he says and I smile a little graciously. His eyes dim somewhat. "I'm sorry about bailing on your dinner invite last night…how did it go?"

I think for a moment. "Dinner?"

He nods and I try not to react in this really weird way. "It was good…I'm still stuffed by the triple chocolate sundae I somehow managed to fit in."

Jason shuffles a little. "You had desert?

I nod quickly, knowing what he must be thinking right now. "I was surprised by how well it all actually went, when I told Tommy you weren't coming things kinda fizzled but we talked and I don't know- things got better and we had a good time, I mean I had a good time."

He makes the noise, you know, the one that's borderline 'kissy' and I roll my eyes.

"Just what I thought, the old fireworks are still there," he beams.

I practically scoff. "Oh please, Jason, I don't need anymore fireworks in my life right now," I mutter, before I sink against the counter myself and realize I'm airing my dirty laundry without thinking.

He looks away almost awkwardly and I slot in a quick sigh, before flicking on another smile. "I'm sorry…it's just, in my experience, fireworks have never been a good thing...the idea of a relationship in my life right now terrifies me," I admit honestly.

We both glance out at another painting, as Jason speaks up. "Surely you want to be with someone though, right? I never figured you to be someone who could be without that."

I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips to the side of my face. "Be without what exactly?"

I am just kidding, but his chivalrous nature hasn't changed despite the years. "I didn't mean it like that," he laughs, almost blushing, although it doesn't stop our sly exchange of eyes, no matter how brief.

I clear my throat a little. "You'll actually be really glad you didn't make it last night," I change the subject. "My Carbonara Fettuccine ended up on the kitchen floor and so Tommy decided to volunteer to cook, only I didn't have any food in my cupboard…so we ended up having peanut butter sandwiches with our wine."

Jason crosses his arms over, letting out a slight laugh of disbelief. "Sounds like I should have gone just for a good laugh," he muses.

And when I think about that, about how different last night would have been with Jason there, I realize that I'm glad he didn't show. Had he been there, Tommy wouldn't have been forced into conversation…he wouldn't have felt obliged to make the best of the night, and it was good. I truly believe he had a good time, too.

I shake my head a little, flicking my hair over my shoulder. "So, tell me, what are your plans today…you been spending much time with your mom, now that she's retired?"

"Yeah…but, uh, it gets a little complicated sometimes…"

I don't know if I'm prying, but I follow up his bleak response with another query. "Complicated, in what way? Your mom was always so cool," I reminisce. "Don't tell me she actually turned into a real mom with old age," I tease lightly.

Jason smiles a little, shrugging. "She's spent too many years helping other people with their problems, I think," he surmises. "I think she bottled up those years and they've slowly seeped through the cracks recently…Come to think of it, she's a bit of a nutcase, really."

He says it in good humor and I laugh knowingly, thinking of my own mother who still resides in Paris. The city of love. My shoulders lower in the slightest of resentment. My mother found love in the arms of a French-born artist, and just like the telling of a foreign film, their relationship has been nothing short of insanely romantic. Paree is crazy about my mother, and my mother is well, crazy. It's an intense equation that somehow works.

God…I hope I don't have to wait until I'm forty to find my knight in shining armor. I think I just shivered.

"Well, I better let you get back to it," Jason concedes, even a little half-heartedly. He taps the counter as though to stir me and my sigh drones into a pout.

Oh yes, I forgot about that painting I need to hang up-.

"Oh hey, wait-." I speak up, looking over at him hopefully. "I was wondering if you could help me make a decision."

He rests against the counter feigning anticipation. "Sounds serious."

I shrug, motioning to the painting on the floor.

* * *

My apartment building is a good representation of my life- when Luke and I first bought our little slice of it, it was so newly built, that we could smell the paint and everything about it was so shiny and 'modern'. Nearly eight years on, it's still so easy to remember how great it was back then, because of how obvious time has changed things now.

But I love my home, I do. I think it's been a temptation to move on, given how much everything reminds me of Luke, but I don't really want to let go of everything. There's a lot of things I loved about my life while I was with Luke and I certainly don't see why I need to dump them all just because we're no longer together.

Even if it does get a little lonely. Even if I do have to resort to more thinking than I would like, just so I subconsciously block out that fact that I am so damn alone.

Anyway, the work day is over and the smell of my Chinese takeout is wafting about and fueling my stride as I jog up the stairs to my second floor apartment. Waltzing on inside, I almost let out a high pitch yelp, grabbing the left side of my chest with a stricken hand.

"Shit! You scared the life out of me," I breathe out, as my fright quickly subsides to relief. "Those magazines are old," I mention, as I notice the pile of magazines stacked on my coffee table, one of them opened wide on Carmel's lap.

She looks up at me, quickly discarding the copy of Cosmopolitan and stands up as though preparing to deliver a presidential speech.

I lower my take out and small bag of groceries onto the table, raising my eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

Her straight lips pull at their edges, drawing up tightly as though reacting to an unbelievable pressure inside her skull.

"I'm pregnant, Kim," she lets out, her eyes tearing up. "I'm pregnant."

"What?" I gasp out, immediately discarding my jacket and walking over to grab her arms.

"Eight weeks..." she confirms, biting her lip. "Guess all those runs to the bathroom weren't because of John's cooking, after all."

My eyes widen and I throw my arms around her, as we bounce about, hooting and giggling in our mutual excitement. Her energy warms me like nothing else, and my happiness for her is so genuine, that it feels like my happiness. Just as Carmel and John were born to be together, the shadow of doubt on their ability to conceive a child together has been so poignant from the day I met them, that this revelation is nothing short of pure bliss.

And for this tiny moment, where I am experiencing this immense elatedness so vicariously, I feel like it's my news. That I'm the one pregnant, happy, content, in love.

We finally plant out butts back on the couch and hold hands the way people do at times like this. "I'm so happy for you guys, Car, I don't know what to say..." I shake my head. "See, this is meant to be...the business is going great, it's like fate wanted you to wait until you were really ready to have a baby."

Carmel can read me like a book. "Your time will come, too," she consoles encouragingly.

I smile, quickly deciding against the sarcasm almost automatically moving to roll off my tongue. "Yeah, I just have to work out the whole finding the right guy, thing," I state gently.

I clear my throat, sliding my hand from hers and reach over to grab my bag of takeout. "You hungry?" I ask her, opening the plastic containers.

She nods with a sly smile and we dig in, Carmel quickly decorating our meal with a word-for-word, emotion-for-emotion reenactment of her doctor's appointment, jumbled in randomly with voiced excitement about building a nursery, baby names and hopes that her butt won't grow any 'bigger' through the changes of pregnancy.

And then it hits me. My initial excitement slowly wears down as I listen to her and realize that it's Carmel who is happy, not me. The shame is enough to make me go off my food, and I can't help but lower my fork and reach for a napkin.

"You have to eat more than that," Carmel tells me, her words muffled by the food in her own mouth. "I'll have to eat it otherwise...I can't get over how hungry I am!"

I sigh softly, frowning at myself as Carmel lowers her cutlery dramatically. "Tell me what's wrong," she starts.

"It's nothing," I feign quietly, before I slump back against the sofa. "I don't want to ruin the moment for you, Car."

She slumps back beside me, smiling as though to herself. "Nothing anyone can say can ruin this moment for me, but you will give me the shits if you don't tell me why you're so down in the dumps."

I gesture a little with my hands. "Luke and I are over, Car, for good…that's what I was going to tell you the other night, only we didn't get a chance to talk and I've been trying not to think about it and," I swallow, surprised at how much my heart is still bruised. "He brought over everything he had left that belonged to me and everything I've ever bought him and I can't believe he had the audacity to think I want any of it here to remember him by."

Somehow I fall into the curves of Carmel's arms and I feel her rub my back, whispering into my ear how sorry she is.

"I can't believe I stuffed up..." I whimper, as she slides away and leans over for a box of tissues, pulling several free for us both to share.

"It's been over for a long time, Kim, you know that…"

I blow my nose ungracefully, scrunching the tissues between my hands.

"You just…grew apart, that's normal when you've been with someone since you were a kid, you've changed," she continued her speech of biased reason. "And if you ask me, he changed for the worst..."

"Car..."

"No, he did," she argues and I almost start to giggle. Almost.

"I don't know what to do with myself, we had all these plans."

"What plans? Going to Seattle? Getting married in Albany? Those were his plans, Kim, not yours and that's why your relationship was doomed," she states matter-of-fact. "Now you're finally going to get a life that you deserve...don't you want to see the world, get out of Angel Grove? Do something more than this?"

And she continues talking, only I have stopped registering her voice of biased reason, instead retreating to the part inside of me which is made up of all the things she doesn't know.

I've lived a lifetime made of several, and yet it all passed me by, by the time I was twenty. See the world? I've seen the universe. Do something more than this? I've done more than what people can imagine to do in the next three-hundred years.

My relationship with Luke pretty much consumed my life from those final ranger days until the very present, it's true. I was a ranger and then a girlfriend, but what am I now? I think of my former teammates and it becomes increasingly apparent that most are without love, without a family of their own…without all the things that are seemingly expected on everyone's to-do list. So where does that leave me?

Is it possible that normality simply isn't something I will ever have?

Maybe I just need to accept facts…that the best days of my life- the height of my potential and dreams…have already passed me by.

* * *

Monday

I don't suffer from Mondayitis, I think because I usually work over six random days every week and all the days seem to kind of blur together. But even though today's just another day for me, I'm feeling a little under the weather. A little weary. I've been deliberating in my sleep, I think.

I saunter through the front entrance of the gallery and wander past John who's doing his usual round of straightening every hanging picture in the shop. Usually I'd stop to teasingly claim that some of them were still resting wonky, but instead I pause, spin around and childishly give him a hug from behind.

"Congratulations, Daddy," I coo, kissing him on the back of the head.

He turns around to face me and it's as though someone has molded the smile on his face with cement.

"I'm so excited for you…" I beam.

He lets out this big breath. "I'm stoked…I'm so…" his sentence trails off and I'm touched by his sentiment.

I let out a small 'awww' "You guys completely deserve it- I told Car your time would come and it has…"

I turn away and head for the leeway behind the counter, but I stop in my tracks as John lets out an "uh-uh".

I frown a little and look around for the wet paint…for whatever it is that I'm not supposed to be touching or going near.

He cocks his head toward the door. "Day Off," he mentions simply, as though I'm supposed to understand. "Go…"

My frown slowly morphs into confusion.

"Boss' orders," he elaborates. "Go home, get some sleep and come back when my cheery girl is back in there."

I widen my eyes. "John, I'm fine…last time I checked, employees can't claim sick days because they've broken up with their boyfriends."

John sighs and drags his legs over toward me. He stops right in front of me, a rather intimidating stance had it not been him doing it. "This is Car's orders, Kim, and I think for once she's actually right- Business is slow at the moment and I don't think I want to watch you mope over that counter all day."

Oh God, have I really been that bad? "Well, I might as well mope around this place, then at home by myself," I point out, but he just shakes his head and points for the door again.

I sigh. There goes my marching order.

"Call me if you need anything," is all he says, before I slowly trudge out onto the sidewalk and gaze about.

Now what am I going to do? I really couldn't be bothered doing anything right now and like per usual, there's not a single cab in sight. I'm gonna have to resort to walking and I'm wearing heels today. Yes, heels. Pretty dumb of me, right?

Even though I'm a little annoyed at Carmel for not telling me about my enforced day off before I got to work, now that I'm a block or so down the road with nowhere to go, I'm actually kinda glad. If I had known, I would have slept in and would have probably felt worse for it. At least now, I can do something practical with my time like get some groceries.

The little grocer on the corner of Lygon and Beller streets has the smallest selection of grocery lines you'll ever see in your life, but I love coming here because it actually has everything I like. And it's always empty. No pushing past other people's carts to get what you want. You don't even need a trolley in this place.

I wander through to the frozen food section, and proceed to stack a few of my favorite meals in my arms. I probably need some milk. Thinking about food reminds me of dinner with Tommy the other night and now I'm pondering if I should maybe get something else in case he comes over again. I also promised Jason I'd invite him over for dinner, too…

"Kimberly?"

I look up from the floor and step back quickly, grinning widely. "Adam!" I gush, trying to balance all the food in my arms.

He moves to help me, and takes some of it. "Thanks," I offer. "It's my fault; I should have grabbed a basket," I pause, noticing his dressed-down attire. "How's business going?"

He nods his head, a subtle light in his eyes. "Really well, or so I hear…I've got the week off, I promised my partner we'd start looking around for a new place; anything much going 'round your area?"

I shrug. "I really have no idea, although you should definitely check out that new complex down the road, my girlfriend was telling me they look really great," I share. "So, uh, you'll never believe who's in town at the moment…Both Tommy and Jason."

"You're kidding?" he smiles for real. "How are they both doing?"

"Really well," my insides warm a little and I wonder if I'm blushing. "So anyway, I should probably let you go, you probably have a million things to do…"

He laughs a little. "Actually, this is my excuse to get away from it all- just don't tell anyone where to find me, okay?"

I giggle. "Your secret's safe with me…" I shuffle the pile in my arms. "It was great to see you, I'm sure we'll bump into each other again soon."

He nods, but his expression changes quickly. "Hey, uh, how about we go out for dinner sometime? I know we keep saying we will but I'm actually free this week- what'd you say?"

"I'd love to…what night suits you best?"

"How about we keep it simple?" he suggests, and we slowly make our way toward the front counter. "Friday night, my shout. My partner and I have contacts with the owners of the Thai Palace, do you know of it?"

My lips have come a little unsticky, but words are hard to form. Heard of it? I've eaten there in my dreams at least half a dozen times.

I nod my head quickly.

"If you see Tommy or Jason before then, invite them along," he suggests, as we set out food down together, one pile after the other. "It would be great to catch up with them."

--

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**Teaser for Chapter 8 "Jason's Visit":**_

_Tommy groans and sneaks a look over to me as the two younger men continue their banter at his expense._

_"It was a disaster," he concedes, as though to make it clear that no further information will be relayed. "There's a lot to be said for being single."_

_"Speak for yourself," Connor promptly admits. "Though some of us don't have as much of a problem with the ladies."_


	8. Jason's Visit

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter** **8** **–** **Jason's Visit**

For the past two years I have lived only a forty minute, Saturday-morning drive from the picturesque city of Reefside, and yet I'd never been, not even passing through. There had been moments when I'd been struggling with constant hospital visits with Cindy that I'd considered sneaking over to Reefside to see a familiar face- to see Tommy, but it was more than obvious from the weekly news reports that he had his hands full enough.

But there has always been an innate curiosity as to how Tommy ended up where he has- living rather remotely, tinkering away with powerful artifacts and teaching kids how to be power rangers. When he called me up the other day and invited me to stay for the weekend, his foreshadowing of a recluse-like lifestyle had me scratching my head even more.

And now, as I pull my red Charger up a driveway, snaking through towering, archaic-like trees and shrubbery, I can clearly visualize what Tommy was trying to tell me.

I let out a brief chuckle at the sight of his house.

"My God, he wasn't kidding..." I murmur to myself, as I park my car to the side, and step out the door.

The smell of life and crisp, ten-am air fill my nostrils, revitalizing me as I notice a 1970 red Ford Mustang at front of the house. Everything's so quiet. The surrounding bush land almost envelopes the wooden home, as though forming a deliberate barricade around its simple, untouched hub.

I slip my hands into my pocket, strolling toward the house. I briefly run my hand over the back of the Mustang, admiring its sleek edges, before a body slides out from underneath, causing me to flinch inwardly.

The boy looks up at me, his hands and clothes marred with the dirt of his efforts. From the shaggy head of hair, crimson colored soccer shirt and broad shoulders, it isn't difficult for me to put a name to him, based purely on past conversations with Tommy.

"Let me guess- you must be Connor?"

I stretch out a hand and he clasps it, pulling easily to standing. "And you, must be Jason Scott," he shakes my hand, a smile settling on his face. "Dr. O told me you were coming for a boy's weekend."

I chuckle slightly at the almost affectionate reference to Tommy, and at hearing him referred to as a 'doctor'. By the casual name drop, it was almost as though the red Dino ranger was speaking of a DJ down at the local nightclub.

I nod briefly, shaking his hand back, before pointing at the cherry-colored car. "This one yours?" I ask.

"Yep, all though it's been more of a lemon than a beast as of late," he admits with a crooked expression.

A screen door rattles from the direction of the house, and we both turn to look as Tommy steps out onto the porch, a dry look on his face, as he throws out a lazy wave to me.

"You weren't lying when you said you live in the bush," I tease lightly, walking over to him, Conner at my feet. "And I've never received such shitty directions in my life."

He grins, slapping me on the shoulder and not a moment passes before we continue through to the old, brotherly hug, finished off with a rash exchange of soft punches to each other's arms and stomachs.

I move my hands out to feign my surrender and he raises a cocky eyebrow. "You're more out of shape than I thought, red boy," he jibes, before motioning to Conner. "I think even Conner might have you running for cover."

Conner lets out a breath of disbelief and shared humor, before he swiftly shakes his head. "No way- you guys did kung-fu since you were born...I only did it as a brief, after school job."

I show my surprise. "So, none of you guys were martial arts inclined?" I ask, referring to the Dino rangers as a group.

Conner shakes his head. "Our powers kicked ass - we didn't need to be," he explained cockily.

I stifle a counter-comment, instead leaning into Tommy as he motions for us to head inside. "So, it was like having a team made up of Kimberlys and Billys?" I whisper light-heartedly, fond memories of the less naturally martial-art prone members of our own ranger team replaying in my mind.

"Yeah, but with major attitude inflammation," he whispers back and we share a quiet laugh, heading on inside.

* * *

I haven't moved from this spot since I planted my ass here two hours earlier. The vast water before me is like a textured silk, catching and throwing back the light from above which is desperately clinging onto day. There is little sound, and yet I can sense or feel the abundance of life that encircles us, and it is precious. It would be easy to get lost here and forget everything that exists outside of this moment.

And then, like an alarm that sounds through that perfect dream, I am once again reminded of another form of animal. He cackles, and then another joins in, peace abolished and the hunt on.

Conner is laughing so hard, I'm worried he might actually fall into the river.

I look on my other side at Tommy, who is shaking his head.

"I missed the joke," I guess out loud, shifting the fishing rod balancing in front of me.

Conner's joviality settles, before the African-American boy speaks up beside him. "You see, this is why we don't bring Conner fishing with us," Ethan James explains. "You can just imagine the danger his voice alone put the rest of the team in during stakeouts."

"Oh, please," Conner counters, rolling his eyes. "You couldn't imagine the danger the team would have been in if I wasn't there," he looks over at Tommy and myself. "We all know it's the leader who pulls the weight of all the other slackers."

I raise an amused eyebrow, but before I can comment, Conner speaks up again.

"So tell me Jason, were you at all annoyed when Dr. O took over your spot as leader on your team?"

Now it's me who could start laughing. Laughing at the reminder of all my teenage agony at that time in my life. How my ego swelled from the bruise of my best friend's succession of myself- seemingly pushing me from my pillar while everyone circled around him and expected me to smile back with seeming unselfish pride.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating this story for good effect.

But still, at the time, watching my leadership of the rangers- the leadership of my friends, of my peers, taken away from me, sucked big time. It wouldn't be till a year later, maybe more, that I thought back on that time and realized that maybe it hadn't been such a bad call on Zordon's behalf to gently encourage a life away from the power. The peace conference had in essence opened a new world for me I never would have seen had I stayed in Angel Grove.

And it's only now that I'm thinking back on all that and smiling in between personal reflection, that I realize I still haven't answered Conner's question.

"Why did you take the leadership from him?" Ethan wonders out loud and Tommy shuffles obviously beside me.

He's almost fatherly. It's the oddest thing to see. He goes to speak, but I decide to get in first.

"An opportunity of a lifetime came up for me, and two of the other rangers," I retell with a hint of sentimentality. "Even though we didn't know it at the time, our mentor Zordon knew that our paths would take us away from our roles as rangers and he prepared the team before we saw it for ourselves.

I pause, glancing back out at the translucent beauty before us.

"Tommy had been bestowed with powers beyond what we'd ever witnessed previously and he was a fighter. He fought through losing his previous powers to come back and that dedication never waned-."

"Yeah, there's a thing about white rangers stealing the lime light," I hear Connor mutter under his breath and I catch Tommy almost rolling his eyes.

Ethan groans with emphasis and I look questionably at the former red dino ranger, before I look to each of them. "Where is the white dino ranger these days anyway? You guys don't hang out anymore?"

"Trent's living in New York," Ethan replies. "He got a scholarship into an art school. We email."

"Email, huh?" I laugh a bit to myself, shaking my head. "I'm not really up with technology these days I admit."

"I'm sure Dr. O can teach you," Connor volunteers, turning to look at Tommy directly. "Hey, isn't that how you met that girlfriend of yours, um...what was her name..."

My eyes perk up with interest as Ethan joins in. "Oh! Yeah, the runner!"

Tommy groans and sneaks a look over to me as the two younger men continue their banter at his expense.

"It was a disaster," he concedes, as though to make it clear that no further information will be relayed. "There's a lot to be said for being single."

"Speak for yourself," Connor promptly admits. "Though some of us don't have as much of a problem with the ladies."

"Says he who remains lady-less" Ethan points out before leaning in my direction. "It's the dinosaur bones," he whispers loudly, cocking a finger back in Tommy's direction. "He woos them at dinner, takes them back to his place and they take a look around and run off, thinking he's a serial killer."

Connor erupts into a laugh so hard that it barely makes any sound.

"Thank you Ethan," Tommy almost mutters as I chuckle along with them.

A gentle hint of breeze summons an almost silent sigh between us all as I glance out dismally at the rod outstretched before me. The trembling movements of light atop of the water's outer shell have dimmed considerably since my last glance and I can barely see the crest of the sun behind the furthest mountains.

"Well, you know what this means," I simply state and we all groan in unison, winding our lines in without a single spoken admission of our lack of fish which might bruise our male egos further.

* * *

Cindy and I once had this conversation about fishing that I'm thinking back on now, as I sit bunched up in the back seat of Tommy's car, precariously wedged between the door and our stack of fishing goods. It was actually on an early evening much like the one that's nestling in around us now. I remember how the air tasted so fresh that it inflated my insides with life that could be consumed and appreciated. Cindy had been sitting in the passenger seat, the window open and the world outside flooding in through its mouth, muffling out a debate we were having on the purpose of fishing.

She said she didn't understand the purpose of fishing. "What is the point? It's not like anyone usually catches anything."

I agreed with Cindy a lot. I had my reasons. A lot of the time, it was easier than struggling through a battle of feminism mixed with a strong shot of let's-be-realistic. On that occasion, however, it was more to do with protecting the code of men. We don't admit we have a code because that would be too...unmanly. But it does exist and fishing plays a big part of it. Unlike women, men don't generally seek out the comfort of other men to discuss the flaws of their lives and ponder how they can be better people. Fishing is an outlet, a way in which men can openly discuss their feelings without that being the purpose to congregate. Fishing alone works much the same. Maybe it's true what they say – Men can't do two things at once and therefore can't watch TV and muse over their life at the same time – fishing is a worthy excuse to do just that.

I'm getting off course here. I guess since we left the lake, on route to drop Ethan and Connor off at their respective residences, I've been thinking a lot about the day and about the people I've met and come to know over three hours of fishing. As much as it's grinded on me at times this past week, I feel benefited from the reminiscing at this second. My thoughts have often scampered back to the time I was the red ranger and never considered there would be another after me.

Life goes on.

"Hang on, I'm stuck on something," Connor warns Tommy as half of him moves out of the car, while his other half fusses with a hook that's tangled itself onto the sleeve of his shirt.

I move to assist him, leaning forward enough for my wallet to slip out of the pocket of my jacket. I watch as the contents scatter precariously across the tarmac beneath us.

"Here," Connor passes it to me as he scoops it all together. For a fleeting moment, her face, usually hidden beneath the shield of my credit card, looks up at me and I quickly close my wallet to steal it from my view.

"Thanks," I offer, before we say our goodbyes and I slip into the passenger seat beside Tommy, grateful for the roomier accommodation it provides.

"I was thinking we should grab a bite to eat before going home to watch some cable," Tommy suggests as the car settles into an easy pace away from Connor's house. He looks over at me. "Feel like fish?"

I feign a 'ha-ha' before easing back into my seat. "Sounds good man. Hey, I can see now what you meant when you said the dino rangers are full of inflated egos. How on earth did you handle that?"

"Luckily, they're good kids," he admits, his eyes drawn to the road ahead. The car lights seem to be reflecting from the road and into his eyes, causing him to squint. That, or he's just tired. "When I first met them, they were all complete opposites and all in detention on my first day teaching, so as you can imagine they didn't appear to me as obvious choices to fulfill the role of a new ranger team. Though I guess it just goes to show, some things are just meant to be."

I ponder the statement for a brief moment. My life flurries through my head and then disappears with the last linger of that thought.

When Tommy's car pulls up in a dimly lit, half-empty carpark it's interesting how I find myself thinking of my more recent home, Malua. With a population of only a few thousand, it pales in size to Reefside, but it's the quirky little outlets and mis-jointed store fronts like this that remind of the peace and quiet I have been missing since being back in Angel Grove.

"Hayley's Cyberspace," I read out aloud, as I follow Tommy in through the front door not knowing what to expect.

The acoustics, which I only dimly heard from outside, present themselves to us immediately in the form of a young woman sitting at one end of the establishment, stroking her guitar and humming bountifully. I quickly glance around and it's not hard to see that the place isn't bursting at the seams with patrons, but the ones who are here seem to be young, a few sitting at tables sipping drinks while others seem to be tinkering away on computers as though oblivious to the life around them.

Tommy heads toward the front counter and I follow, watching as a woman with a pretty face and dark crimson hair strolls over to greet him.

"I can thaw some fish from the freezer if you want to tell Kira that you actually caught something," she muses, her hands absentmindedly drying a glass with a tea towel.

Tommy lets out a laugh, turning to me with an almost light in his eyes. "Jason, this is Hayley, I've told you about her before."

I nod and lean across the counter, shaking her hand as she flicks Tommy a curious look. "I'd be interested to know just what exactly he told you," she mentions and Tommy shakes a head, motioning to her for a drink.

I reach in for my wallet as she places a cold glass before me and she smiles politely. "It's on the house." Her eyes travel behind me and her lips twist a little to the side. "I'll be back."

I watch as she slides around the counter, heading toward the cluster of computers nearby. Man, kids sure have it lucky these days.

"The girl on the stage is Kira," Tommy leans over, catching my attention.

"Ah, the yellow dino ranger," I clarify, briefly focusing on the flurry of music that sounds so effortless on her behalf. "She's pretty talented."

Tommy nods and I catch the light again in his eyes. Warmth.

He seems at home.

"I'm really glad I came by to see you," I say from out of nowhere, quickly taking a swig of my drink to detract away from my cracking voice.

Tommy smiles tightly, slapping me on the arm and we tap our glasses together. "Let this be the first visit of many more to come."

--

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**Teaser for Chapter 9 "Tommy's Call":**_

_Glancing absently at the floor, noticing the dirt I've dragged inside on my shoes, I suddenly find myself staring at the phone. _

_I swallow the water in my mouth and release an exaggerated breath as I just stare. I do have will power. I never call anyone, so why the hell am I finding it so damn difficult to shake the urge to call Kimberly? _


	9. Tommy's Call

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter** **9** **–** **Tommy's Call**

I roll over in bed, bright morning sunshine slipping beneath my non-cooperative eyelids. From the luminous heat that's spread across my blanket I can take a pretty accurate guess that it's not exactly early, but I don't want to get up. I'm not tired, but content.

The sounds of life from somewhere else in the house stir my senses. Jason's making an awful amount of racket for one person, but I can quickly distinguish more sets of voices mixed in with the clamoring of pots and pans and a television blaring in the background.

I pull on a pair of crinkled jeans and a shirt, run my hands over my hair and make my way out toward the kitchen, a yawn of mine diminishing quickly as the scene of life presents itself to me. Kira, Conner, Ethan, Jason, Hayley and her brother, Shane. That saying, 'too many cooks spoil the broth' quickly pops into my head.

Kira twists her head around as though to flash me a grin, but is quickly intercepted by her ragged-haired cooking partner.

"Uh, this looks about right...you drag yourself out of bed _after_ we've finished all the hard work," Conner chides me light-heartedly.

I raise an eyebrow, stopping beside Jason who's looking at me as though he needs to be rescued.

"What are you all doing making a mess in my kitchen?" I question, directing my eyes finally to Hayley.

Hayley shakes her head, returning her attention to a tall stack of toast that she's buttering away with her brother. "You're lucky I stopped at the market to get some food before I came around here," she states. "Your milk was three days passed it's 'use by' date."

Jason flicks me a look and I chuckle softly. "Yeah, I like the extra chunks in it...it makes scrambled eggs that extra fluffy."

Hayley and Kira both look up at me disgusted, but before I retract my awful attempt at humor, the phone rings. I look around at the six people in my presence and wonder who else is left in the world who would call me at this time on a Sunday morning.

"Hello?"

"Tommy Oliver?"

I head back out of the kitchen in an attempt to escape the light-hearted banter. "Yeah, speaking," I respond.

"This is Luke Burges, I uh-."

"I know who you are," I cut him off; wondering how it is even possible that Kimberly's former lover got my number.

And why the hell he even dialed it, for that matter.

"You're probably wondering why I'm calling and I have no doubt that Kim's told you that she and I have gone our separate ways," he states.

I'm still confused. "What do you want from me?"

"When I left Kim the other day, things were really bad. I just want to know that she's okay."

Is he kidding? Seriously?

"I'm sure there are other people better equipped to talk about this," I suggest firmly.

"Maybe. But her friends that were mine won't touch me with a ten foot pole," he explains, the cracks sounding in his previously cool and collected voice. "She talks to you. It's no secret; I've seen the phone bills."

What, is he trying to accuse me of something here? "It's really not my place to go talking about Kim behind her back. If you cared that much about her welfare, then maybe you shouldn't have broken up with her the way you did-."

"Yeah, well news flash, Tommy, I have taken her back two times, too many in the past. If she's not ready to commit herself after eight years then I'm not going to wait around. But it doesn't mean that I don't still care about her. Problem is, she can't seem to differentiate between a friend and a lover."

I sigh, my loyalty towards Kimberly struggling to combat my common sense. "Like I said, it isn't my place to talk about Kim with anybody...but she's fine, from what I know."

And that's basically where the conversation ends. There's the quickest and blurriest exchange of "goodbyes" you can imagine, before I'm left staring at the phone in my hand wondering what on earth just took place.

* * *

Thankfully, breakfast was distracting enough that Luke Burges was quickly placed out of mind. He hasn't left my thoughts completely, but one thing I've always noticed about being around these people is that it's really difficult to stay too hung up on any one thing for too long. I'm pretty sure it's a matter of having to stay on my toes. They would be too quick to point out my out of place expression and God knows, I do not need any more prying where my love life is concerned.

Love life as in lack of one, I mean.

I'm always quick to remember the few women I have been brave enough to introduce to Hayley and the dino rangers and let's just say, I'm still severely single. I'm not blaming them, of course, but if they get even a hint of scandal or dirty laundry in my life, it's on for old and new. You saw how much shit they gave me just for having some old milk in my fridge.

Thankfully, the conversation is now well away from me, which is ideal because I haven't been paying an ounce of attention to it. Walking outside my house, Jason is handling the zealous attention like a pro, even with the non-stop questions flying to him every ten seconds. Conner is on one side, shamelessly gazing at him as though he is Zordon himself while Hayley walks on his other side, correcting Conner constantly.

Kira's ambling beside me, skipping pebbles with her shoes. "You're quiet," I point out.

She shrugs, pursing her lips to the side. "I was just thinking that it's nice to have the chance for all of us to spend time together. Who knows, we may not get the opportunity to do this again for a long time."

"Hey, you know what would be awesome?" Conner pipes up, turning around for his grand attention as we all reach Jason's car in the driveway. "If we had like a ranger reunion or something."

Kira's eyes are quick to light up, agreeing with the former red ranger for what is possibly only the second or third time in history. "That would be great. Hey, we could call Trent and see if he's coming home any time soon."

Conner's nose scrunches a little. "I was thinking more of the original rangers. Don't you think it would be awesome to meet them in person? I mean, they must be way old by now."

I watch Jason's face process his words quickly, his eyebrows slanting with a lack of comprehension. I just continue to smile tightly, knowing that to offer a correction to Conner is just a welcome card to further nonsense.

"Well, we better let Jason go so he doesn't miss his appointment at the nursing home," Hayley points out effortlessly.

Conner frowns momentarily, before he moves around to the driver's side and shakes Jason's hand enthusiastically. I stand back and watch and it's clear to me that as much as these kids will always be kids in my eyes, the sense of respect they have for the power is undeniable, no matter the jesting on the outside.

Momentary silence.

"Were we that…"

"Stupid?" I finish Jason's sentence, smiling broadly as the others leave us alone in my driveway.

We laugh for a moment before he shakes his head. He rubs the side of his temple. "Really makes you think back."

I nod, helping him throw his belongings in the trunk. I hope he'll be back again soon.

"What's on your mind, Dr. O?" He asks with a smirk, and I settle my back against his car.

"Not a lot; just thinking that I hope you'll be back soon is all."

He shakes his head. "You really need a woman."

My head tips back, a groan attempting to escape my tightened lips. "Don't you start."

"I'm just shaking your bones, bro," he concedes lightly. "I know you and Kim are hot and heavy after all."

My head snaps his way but as I go to respond, I quickly hold back, leveling my gaze. "Kim and I are just friends."

Man, that was a meek reply.

Jason's eyebrows go up and then down. "Last time I had dessert with a woman, it was certainly a lot more than friendly."

I look away from him, staring at nowhere in particular. "I don't think Kim and I are really…compatible."

"So you've thought about it at least."

"Briefly," I admit, holding my eyes ahead. "We've always tried to stay in touch. I can't pretend I don't care about her, but I really don't think there's anything there to pursue."

I catch Jason nodding carefully in my peripheral vision, carefully considering my words. "The few times we've caught up, she's seemed pretty lonely. Trying to figure out what she wants from life." He smiles a little and then shakes his head. "If someone like Kim can't figure it out, what hope do the rest of us have?"

I don't comment, instead pondering his rhetorical question. I think back on the early days of Kimberly. The head cheerleader, the pep rally leader, the class president, the girl who threw herself into every challenge head on without an ounce of hesitation. She had a confidence that sung to me. She wanted to be a star gymnast. A leader. A person who could care for the elderly. A person who could work with children. In fashion. Where others were afraid to dream, Kimberly was afraid to stop.

There were a lot of things about Kimberly that as teenagers reached out and shook my foundations with everlasting consequence. They were mostly subtle, but every single thing was so damn attractive and I'm not just talking about the short skirts and flirty eyes. What grabbed me from the get go, was how she could reach into a person's life and change them, even if she knew nothing more than their name. How she was never afraid to approach a person and tell them that she cared.

How she always seemed to make things…better. Easier.

I suppose it's difficult for me to say a lot about Kimberly these days, because when I really think about it, it's very possible that it's me who's changed as a person just as much as her. My reluctance when it comes to relationships has been more about protecting my secrets than wanting to be by myself. No matter how much I've enjoyed a woman's company, the truth of the matter is I feel like there are so many parts of me that she can never know about that I don't see how anything long-term can come from it.

So I guess when I was at Kimberly's the other night, it was a whole lot easier for me to consider her in an entirely different light, purely because she knows everything there is to know about me. I mean, there's a lot of other parts to the equation that makes things not that straight forward between us, but even then…most of those things are assumptions on my behalf.

Why am I even thinking about any of this any way? Damn Jason.

"Look, if you want my honest opinion bro…"

I eye him charily, softening my gaze just enough so he knows to keep speaking.

"I think that life is too short to waste it on thinking about things too much," he continues. "I'm not telling you to get it together with Kim nor anyone else for that matter, but sometimes it's better to stop listening to your head so much and worrying about what you think is the right thing to do or what you think other people would want you to do. Sometimes, even the leader has to put them self first."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're getting mighty heavy on me there, Jase…"

He shrugs, closing the driver's door and winding down his window to look out at me. "Take some chances in life, Tommy. I think you've spent enough years putting the world first," his words call out over the rumbling of the ignition.

* * *

Jason's words are still playing in my mind. Not even exercise, usually my one sure way of clearing my head is getting rid of those words just digging at that small part of me that's wondering "what if?"

I can't explain it, I really can't. My sneakered feet are pounding across the edge of the road and the scenery is beautiful, the weather gorgeous, but I feel like something's missing. I've wandered along this lonely path more times than I remember and I don't think this feeling has become birthed by my lack of a jogging partner. I'm convinced- almost- that a small part of me is hung up on Kim.

I must be crazy, I mean it must be the fact that Jason's here and all this reminiscing about the good times is coloring my view of the world. I thought things would be different between Jason and I. Not better, but different; I almost get the impression that he's hiding something from me. But there's a lot of him that's still there and I see that. We still have those similarities that made us such great buddies back then. Silly me never thought I'd find that same connection with Kimberly all of these years later.

With every alternate foot that moves me further along, I change between my split state of mind; the part of me that hasn't thought much of Kimberly and has lived a perfectly adequate life without her versus the other part that feels ever so slightly connected to her – as a woman, drawn by the surprising amount of life similarities that we now share.

But is there really enough here between us that's worth even trying to pursue? Do I want that in my life now, someone to jog beside me and come home to every night?

Snickering at the way in which my pace has almost dribbled off into a walk, I inconspicuously curve my momentum up a ragged, lone path. Focusing my energy onto my speed, I force myself to think nothing until I pound up the stairs of my bush land sanctuary, stumbling into the kitchen.

Breathing hard, I rip open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water, sucking down its cooling contents which stimulate my mind once again. Glancing absently at the floor, noticing the dirt I've dragged inside on my shoes, I suddenly find myself staring at the phone.

I swallow the water in my mouth and release an exaggerated breath as I just stare. I do have will power. I never call anyone, so why the hell am I finding it so damn difficult to shake the urge to call Kimberly?

I wouldn't even know what to say to her. I don't even know what I'm going to say to her, and that's going to be a problem given I have the phone to my ear right this moment and can hear her phone ringing to the pattering of my heart.

"Hello?"

My eyes shoot open, before I quickly fumble to sit on a chair. "He-Hello, Kim...it's-."

"Tommy," she guesses. "This is a nice surprise."

I let out a breathy grin. "How are you?"

That's the best I can come up with.

"Yeah, I'm good, can't complain. How about you? You sound sort of out of breath."

I swallow a quick mouthful of water, lowering down on a nearby chair. "I've just been out for a run," I admit, wiping the moisture from my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's surprisingly warm outside."

I can here noise from her end, as though she's moving around. "Not so nice from my view, I'm afraid," she states. "Sometimes I think Angel Grove is getting too populated these days, there always seems to be smog hanging around. I keep remembering the old days when every day seemed so full of blue skies and sunshine."

I'm listening to her voice and not especially to what she's saying, but I'm listening to her voice and just…listening. She's stopped talking and I'm…still listening.

The pause extends beyond her comfort point. "Um…are you still there?" she wonders cautiously.

"Oh yeah, yes," I let out quickly, squinting heavily at my own awkwardness and she at least laughs softly, removing the focus off how stupid I've sounded so far during this conversation.

"So um…you called...?"

"I did." I regain my composure. Take a breath buddy. This is Kim. Just Kim. "I was uh-."

Think quick buddy.

"I was uh calling to tell you that-."

Shit- what am I supposed to say?

"I'm coming into town for a teacher's conference." There. Good one.

"In Angel Grove?" she wonders, sounding rather surprised.

"Yeah, yeah I'm actually coming in next week," I continue my lie effortlessly, relieved at least that she can't see my face and that I sound at least rather convincing.

"Oh, that's great!" she enthuses and although I'm somewhat reassured, I'm also slightly taken aback by how excited she sounds by my news.

I chuckle somewhat nervously.

"I'm actually meeting up with Adam on Friday night for dinner," she explains. "I mentioned to him that you've be in town lately and he told me that if I saw you that I should invite you along. It should be a really good night, of course, as long as it won't interrupt with your conference or anything."

"No, Friday night is good," I answer, probably too quickly, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I haven't seen Adam for bloody ages, it'll be great to catch up."

"That's exactly what I thought," Kimberly shares.

Now there's some silence, but it's less cumbersome. It sounds like she's doing something and I'm sitting here thinking a little about my old teammate and wondering about what I should wear on Friday night and what I should say and how I should act. And hell, why I lied about going to Angel Grove. Now I need to book accommodation and…actually go there.

But it'll be good. Maybe an opportunity like this, where it's not just the two of us will help me overcome my automatic response to act like an idiot where Kimberly is concerned and actually eliminate a burning question that seems to have appeared from out of nowhere.

Maybe, just maybe, Jason was right.

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 10 "Kimberly's Reunion":**_

I lower the straw from my lips, resting my glass on the stool beside me. "That must have been difficult for Adam, tonight," the thought suddenly pops in my skull, as I look at Tommy thoughtfully.

He frowns curiously. "In what way?"


	10. Kimberly's Reunion

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter** **10** **–** **Kimberly's Reunion**

_This one goes out to my sister-in-literature, Miss. Mali – Merry Aussie Christmas baby xx_

* * *

I wriggle my behind from side-to-side, doing the whole seesaw motion as I drag the tight black fabric up my torso. This dress is never so tight when I actually have it on, but to actually get to that point is a real exercise of patience and carefully executed wriggling.

I shove one arm in, followed by the other and breathe out with relief. God, for a second here, I really thought I might have put on weight since the last time I'd worn this outfit.

Leaning away the office desk, I do a small twirl in front of the mirror hanging up on the back of the door. Thank goodness I was smart enough to hang one up in here, despite John's objections that there was absolutely no use for a mirror to be hung up in the gallery's minute office.

But, I bet he never envisaged I would be so classy as to pull on a pair of stockings, a black dress and heels at work before a night out at one of Angel Grove's most prestigious restaurants. Given that John had a baby appointment with Carmel, and I didn't want to pull out on my night with Adam and Tommy, I have had no choice but to compromise here- close the shop five minutes early and do my best at making myself look somewhat presentable before rushing off to meet Tommy at the Thai Palace by six-thirty.

I hear a knock on the door and jump a little, before quickly surmising that it must be John. "Yeah, come in," I greet, as I feverishly begin flicking my fingers through my hair.

John sticks his head in, remaining in the doorway. His eyebrow climbs.

"How do I look?" I ask, as I blindly glide on a discreet shade of lipstick.

"You look like you're going on a date…who's the lucky fellow?"

I flick my hand. "No one, just going out to dinner with some old friends," I explain, rubbing my lips together. "We used to go to Angel Grove High together."

His face remains unconvinced, as he rests his body against the door frame. "You look mighty dressed up for reunion dinner," he tells me. "Are any of these old friends that guy you introduced me to in the shop- the one that made you blush like a little girl?"

I roll my eyes at him, sighing at his retelling of Jason's first visit to the gallery. "No…Jason couldn't make it. But the reason I am trying to go to some effort, is that we're eating out at the Thai Palace."

He lets out a loud breath. "You never told me I've been paying you enough to eat out there," he teases.

I smile. "One of my old friends is a partner in a big accountancy firm down town, you know, Park-Richardson Financial services?" John nods and I continue, "Well, I think they have ties to the restaurant owners of something, but he assured me that's where he wanted to take us out and that he's going to pick up the tab…"

"I see," John crosses his arms over his chest. "Then I guess I won't bother asking if you want to come over and have dinner with Car and I tonight…"

I look up from my bag and drop my shoulders apologetically. "Aww, I'm sorry…how did the appointment go?"

John nodded and moved back to allow me out of the tiny office. "Everything's fine, it was a good outlet for Carmel to whine and complain about her aches and pains to someone other than me," he claims and I let out a small laugh, spinning around to face him as I reach the front exit.

"Be nice," I emphasize, pointing my finger at him and stabbing it gently at his stomach. "And tell Car I'll speak to her tomorrow."

* * *

The Thai Palace is one of the most visually effluent restaurants in the whole of Angel Grove, with its peaking roof top, elaborate external finishings and gorgeous array of twinkling lights. It's the type of restaurant you drive past and sigh dreamily, wishing you would meet a guy both rich and cultured enough to want to take you there. Believe it or not, despite all the talking-up Luke did, he repelled spicy food so I have never been any further than the sidewalk. Just one of those girls dreaming, I guess.

So it's been a nice change tonight to be able to tell the cab driver to deliver me to such a well-known landmark, and as I step out of the taxi, I almost strut up to the large, tinted doors, bouncing my shoulders a little to the sound of my heels clicking on the pavement. I go to push open the door, but to my surprise, it opens on its own and I smile politely at the doorman, who offers to take my jacket.

I shrug it off and expose my bare arms, feeling the gentle temperature from inside tickle my skin. The attendant's smile is pasted on his face, and I contain a giggle as a voice summons me from behind.

"Kim?"

I turn around, almost falling back into the restaurant worker as I recognize a very dashing man speaking my name and I blush.

"Tommy…I hope you weren't waiting long," I greet, as he leans in toward me and plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, before I quickly return the gesture.

"Nuh, I just got here…you should have told me you were catching a cab, I could have driven past and picked you up," he says, as we walk through the ornate foyer.

"It's okay, I came straight from work," I assure him. "Have you seen Adam?"

"I think he's at our table already," Tommy replies, as we stop at the front desk and get assistance at finding our table.

I have to remind myself that this isn't a date. As we follow the waiter, weaving through the countless tables, I can feel Tommy's shirted arm brush against mine, and it makes it hard for me not to look at him. I love the way he styles his hair…his skin is almost perfection beneath the enchanting lights above, and I can smell his aftershave. He's wearing black and gray. He looks like he belongs in a place like this.

And me, with my fitted black dress, matching heels and straightened hairdo; I look like I belong with _him_. I wonder if he notices.

When Adam told me he had made quote, "special reservations", I pictured a window table and breathtaking views of town square. So imagine my inner excitement when we arrive at our table and lo and behold, what I dreamed is what is real.

Adam and Tommy instantly greet each other with a hug, which surprises me a little. I mean, it's been a lot of years and Tommy's never been the overly-physically expressive type. I just sort of stand behind, one foot hooked patiently behind the other as I watch my two former high school friends exchange generalizations, before Adam finally looks to me and settles one of his famous smiles of delicacy my way.

"Kim." I hug him, before stepping back beside Tommy and Adam gestures with a glint in his eyes. "You didn't tell me you and Tommy were seeing each other again."

"Oh, oh-." Tommy and I both go to speak at the same time, before we both stop in unison and smile abashedly.

I laugh a little and shake my head. "We're not…together, together," I correct, flicking Tommy a small smile.

Adam lets out a small laugh himself. "I'm sorry, old habit of seeing you two together, I guess," he apologies.

Tommy pulls out a chair for me and I take a seat beside Adam, looking over at the as yet, unintroduced man sitting on the other side of him.

"Tommy, Kim; this is Cameron, my partner," Adam introduces.

I smile politely, as Tommy shakes Cameron's hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he offers, before glancing over at Adam. "Kim told me you're running quite a successful accountancy firm here in the city."

Adam nods. "Yeah, Cameron and I set up shop about four years ago, and after a bit of luck on the networking side things, we had a steady growth in clientele…We were fortunate in that Cameron's father was able to take financial pressure of us during the first year or so. It's not as easy getting a business loan as you would think."

"I bet you the banks are kicking themselves now that they didn't get involved," I point out. "You guys are what- millionaires now?"

Everyone has a nice laugh at my comment, before Cameron shakes his head. "Not quite, Kim…all though the business is bringing in over the six-figure before expenses as of last financial year…"

Tommy's clearly impressed. "Wow, guys, that's pretty impressive…" he offers genuinely. "Boy, did I get into the wrong job…"

I scoff lightheartedly. "You're telling me," I empathize.

Cameron clasps his hands together. "What is it that you both do?"

It's funny how I automatically go to speak on behalf of both Tommy and I, as through we're a collective. "Tommy has a doctorate in Paleontology and is a teacher at Reefside High school," I reply, before smiling tightly…I hate having to tell people with really great jobs what I do. "I'm working at Lygon Gallery at the moment…I was working as a consultant for Corporate Image Design & Marketing, but it just wasn't for me…you know, the whole working in an office thing." I blush. "Even though the office thing clearly pays off for some people," I add with a small smile.

"Tou-shay, Kim; All the money in the world isn't worth it if you're doing something you don't enjoy," Adam counters, before he looks at Cameron. "You and I should stop by and see Kim…it would be good to get some prints for the new office."

Cameron nods and I smile warmly. "That sounds great…we have some really nice charcoal prints in at the moment, they have a real diverse appeal, I think," I share, glancing up as the waiter returns to our table, menus in hand.

"Let's order, shall we?" Adam suggests.

Tommy nods largely. "I'm starving."

I take a menu and flick it open, overwhelmed by the large selection of dishes. Realizing my lack of knowledge on Thai food, I consider asking Adam for his recommendation and look up, only to catch a glimpse of something most unexpected in the corner of my eye.

Cameron's hand is resting on Adam's leg. Not one of those accidental hand-brushes-knee-awkward-under-the-table-touches, but a graze that lingers on for too long for me to dismiss it.

* * *

Tommy and I didn't hang around that long after the empty plates were escorted from our cozy table. The conversation remained pleasant enough, with a mixture of small tales and friendly banter, but the timing just seemed right for the party to disperse. I don't think it was the awkwardness, if there was any, but more so the fact that the group discussion would frequently flick to one-on-one conversation.

Cameron and Adam; Tommy and I.

We were all in a good mood after the meal, I think. We kissed cheeks, patted shoulders, shook hands and said our farewells, splitting off and leaving the restaurant in our designated pairs and it was at that point, I received the shock of the night.

Yes, even more shocking than my assumptions on Adam's sexual preferences.

"Did you, uh, want a lift home?" Tommy offered me, as we stood like two awkward school kids out the front of the restaurant, beneath the shining street lights.

I actually didn't want to go back to my apartment. It was only a little after nine-thirty and I had gone to an unusual amount of effort to look nice this evening. I certainly didn't want to waste it.

And it was as though Tommy read my mind, as he quickly added. "Or, we can go for a drink out…if you want to," he suggested.

I know, he wasn't asking me to commit to marriage, but still, I wasn't expecting that Tommy would want to prolong the evening, more especially to actually volunteer to extend it in my sole company. A lot of things had changed this side of town since Tommy had last ventured out in Angel Grove's nightlife, so I took the initiative for us both and headed toward a jazz bar I'd been to once or twice before hand.

Two drinks later, we're still seated in a far away corner, sensuously smooth tunes drifting through the chatter of the half-filled venue. We're tucked away here, as though advertising some clear desire for privacy and I have to wonder if Tommy chose this spot for a particular reason.

I lower the straw from my lips, resting my glass on the stool beside me. "That must have been difficult for Adam, tonight," the thought suddenly pops in my skull, as I look at Tommy earnestly.

He frowns curiously. "In what way?"

I shift a little, looking sideways. "You know…" I widen my eyes in gesture. "His partner and all."

Tommy's eyes intensify with lack of comprehension. "What about him?"

I sigh resignedly. "They're clearly more than business partners, Tommy," I state incredulously, reaching for my drink.

Tommy lets out a slight laugh, half scoff. "What have you based that theory on?"

I shake my head with disbelief. "Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't think the same thing…I saw Cameron rest his hand on Adam's leg…and it wasn't an accident, it lingered there-."

I stop briefly as Tommy starts to laugh, shaking his head at me, but I shuffle to the edge of my seat, continuing my explanation in spite of his objections.

"There were also the looks," I point out. "And Adam called Cameron his partner…not business partner, his _partner_," I emphasis, as Tommy continues to shake his head at me.

I look away as the music changes tone, settling into a more upbeat tempo. I laze back into my chair and finish my vodka, before looking back over at Tommy. I've caught him staring at me; through me.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

He shakes his head a little, pursing his lips. "Nothing…the night's just been full of surprises, that's all…"

I hope my eyes aren't twitching to the erratic tremble of my heart. "What exactly has surprised you?" I coax gently, reaching back for my drink before realizing it's all gone.

He signals the waiter for another round, before raising his eyebrows. "Finding out Adam's gay," he admits, before shrugging. "I always thought he and Tanya had something special…and then again, I always wondered why he didn't stay with Rebecca…"

I nod, sharing his thoughts. "I think maybe Rebecca was too young for him, you know?" I remark, remembering Adam's girlfriend from his college years. "I mean, in the mind," I reiterate. "All the responsibility changed us all, I think"

Tommy's face softens, but then smiles tightly. "That didn't make him gay, though," he points out gently, thanking the waiter as he sets down our two drinks. "He probably knew he was gay since we were young, and was too worried to tell us the truth."

"I hope that isn't true…I would hate to think that Adam didn't trust us enough to be there for him. I wonder if Rocky knew?"

Tommy shakes his head quickly. "Nuh, I don't think so…Aisha?"

I shake my head just as swiftly. "She would have told me," I assure him, taking a succinct sip of my drink. I shrug. "As long as he's happy now, that's the main thing," I surmise.

Tommy raises his glass a little, clicking it softly against mine. "To happiness."

"To happiness," I echo sentimentally.

The music changes with our flow of conversation. The low beat hums like a background whisper, as I catch Tommy's wayward glance once again. "You know, we should do something for Jason's birthday…he probably thinks we've forgotten and we know how much he hates attention…"

I giggle, tipping my head back a little, before I compose myself. "I'm sure he's probably got a big party planned back at home. You don't turn the big 3-0 every year."

"I don't think he's doing anything," Tommy confesses, his eyes serious. "I don't know why, but he said he's not going back to Malua for a while…he told me has things to sort out here, but I don't know; he's not as open with me as he used to be."

I blink and watch Tommy take a brisk swig of his drink, and I can almost sense his resentment. "You know, I'm sure it's not personal, Tommy. We all have things we'd prefer to keep to ourselves."

He stares at me for a moment. "There's nothing I wouldn't tell you or him, for that matter," he says seriously.

I study my drink. "Want me to test that theory?" I ask, throwing him a sly smile.

He chuckles softly. "Kimberly Ann Hart…you all ready know more about my life than most other people do…probably more, than anyone else."

His comment throws me off, and I am rendered without the breath to push a suitable reply from between my ajar lips. I wish he hadn't said it, really; I mean, I hardly deserve to be bestowed as the keeper of Tommy Oliver's greatest secrets and it's a favor I can't return, as much as I wish I could look into his eyes at this moment and tell him so.

So, I smile and sigh calmly, and he does the same, as he we stare out at the live band, pretending we're just two unoccupied vessels content to remain without an anchor.

---

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 11 "Jason's Birthday":**_

"Jason…look, I don't want to overstep any lines here…but I sense that you're keeping something from all of us," he mentions softly.

I try not to swallow, as he takes a step toward me.


	11. Jason's Birthday

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 11 - Jason's Birthday**

Birthdays are a bit like Christmas, aren't they? For the first eighteen years of your life, they're the most exciting dates on the calendar and then like a hit from nowhere, they're just a clockwork reminder that you're getting older. That another year of life has passed you by. It's sort of a kick in the groin, knowing that not only do you receive less presents, but you also receive a new wrinkle, a tighter waist line or a new gray hair.

For me, my birthday is definitely a representation of a milestone in my timeline, but it's not for those same reasons. Six months ago, I'd honestly wondered if I would be here at all. For the past number of years my life has been nothing more than a measurement of dates and percentages. This chemotherapy cycle would consist of six treatments. If I had another treatment, it would likely extend my life by a few years. If I didn't have the treatment, I might only live half a year. If the cancer spreads again, then I might only have three months. So far, I'm past the six month mark they delivered me last time.

Right now, sitting here with my father in the backyard seems to be doing the trick at taking me back in time. He's been talking a lot about all the things he's hoping to get done in the yard and the changes he'd like to make to the garage. He wants to build a retreat in the empty carport so he has a place to watch his football and drink his beers. According to my dad, he spent enough years in the police force to take orders from my mother where renovations are concerned.

All bickering aside, I appreciate the fact that my parents have chosen to put on a BBQ for lunch today and that they made just the right amount of fuss over the fact that I'm now thirty years old. My mother has been more at ease with me since I told her I would be staying with them for a little while and I think that's somehow fed her heart with enough encouragement to lay off on the constant comments about how little I'm eating and how much weight I've lost. In turn, I feel like I have at least one dilemma off my shoulders.

I keep rubbing my eyes, much to my mother's attention.

"Jason, put your sunglasses on," she orders me for the third time.

"I'm tired, mom," I clarify, taking a swig of the beer sitting in front of me.

She doesn't look at all satisfied by this, especially because admitting I'm tired means that there's other issues with me that she needs to try to rectify.

"You really need to be getting more rest," she starts up, her hands flicking about as she fusses with a pile of napkins on the table nearby. "It's our fault; we should have let you sleep in this morning."

"Mom, I promise you, you did not wake me up and you are not depriving me of sleep," I reassure her firmly, leaning forward in my chair. Some muscles in my back ache but I don't show it.

"Leave the boy alone, Kathleen, you know it's only expected that he's going to be more tired than normal," my father decides to speak up, standing up from his chair.

I watch him head for the barbecue, as my mother shoots him a grave stare. These moments are awkward for me to say the least, but I'm learning to find a place where I don't feel this automatic desire to run away. Trying to adjust to people constantly talking like I am not within ear range or as though I'm a vegetable unable to speak is severely mind numbing. Pain gravitates to my tongue as I find myself biting on it. I want to find a voice, to point out why they're wrong, but it's of no use.

I know this sounds a little woe-is-me, but sometimes I feel like I may as well already be dead.

The sound of my name is not uncommon in conversation, so it takes a few moments for me to register that my father is actually speaking to me and not about me. I shake my head at his offer for another beer, and instead stand up, stretching my joints discreetly as I wonder over to the grill.

"Don't worry about your mother, son," my father speaks to me in a voice only quiet enough for us to hear.

He doesn't have to say it; I'm already more than well aware.

"What's on the menu?" I decide to change the topic.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he replies, doing a surprisingly poor job at concealing a rather suspicious grin.

So you can see my daily, monthly, yearly, lifetime predicament. My mother is an OCD suffering control freak while my father is a little past senseless.

I glace around for my mother, suddenly feeling ill ridden at my private thoughts of her, only she's no longer in view. I guess she's preparing something in the kitchen and I consider going inside to offer her a hand, but then quickly find my ears perking up at unfamiliar voices somewhere close by.

Voices. People. Here.

My eyes shoot about nervously, but before I can swing around to interrogate my father, perky legs stride through the back door, followed by another set, and another set and…people are here.

"Happy Birthday Jason," my father pats me on the back proudly, as I pull a tight smile at the first surprise visitor, waving a wrapped bundle toward me.

"Kim…" I try to greet her warmly but every word is clogging up in my mouth.

She wraps her arms around me and I'm momentarily reminded of her slight stature, before Tommy comes over the top of her and slaps my other hand.

"Happy Birthday old fart," he jokes, winking at me.

It's the last clear words I can make sense of before I find myself suddenly running away in my head, just like I was trying not to do.

* * *

Talking. Mingling. Short tales, long stories, jokes, reminiscing – you name it, and chances are pretty good that it's going on somewhere amongst the small gathering that found its way into my parents' backyard without my prior preparation. To say I'm out of practice with these sorts of things is an understatement. Usually, my parents are more sympathetic to my self-inflicted social avoidance, but I guess this is what I get for opening my big mouth so much lately about the few people here.

My mother always had a soft spot for my high school friends, in particular for Kimberly who was one of those well-spoken kids who impressed the pants off adults with her maturity and charisma. Kimberly would spend a good part of an hour at times, talking to my mother about her gardening work and in turn, my mother overlooked Kimberly's frequent climbing though my window at all hours of the night. My mother was a therapist so understandably, she had a knack for reading the signs that Kimberly's home life was less glamorous than her mother Caroline liked to make it seem.

Even now, so many years later, I can tell that my mother is enjoying the opportunity to rekindle the impression she always seemed to have on my friends. Engaging in what seems to be a rather descriptive and highly gestured conversation with Kimberly, she looks so at ease and I for one feel a huge relief that I don't need to worry about her for the moment.

But what about for the rest of the day? Kimberly, Tommy, Adam… these people who used to know me better than any other soul didn't have a single clue about any aspect of my life anymore.

I feel paralyzed by my own self.

"You want a drink, bro?" Tommy asks, motioning at the empty bottle of brew in front of me.

I blink for a moment before finally shaking my head. "Uh no, thanks Tommy."

My father lets out a laugh rooted deep in the basement of his belly, catching the attention of us all.

Adam coyly tips his head, before sliding back in his chair. "I was telling your father that I'm good friends with one of the guys he used to work with," he explains with a small smile. "I might only be an accountant, but you'd be surprised; some of my clients seem to think I'm also a doctor, psychologist, husband and wife."

Tommy chuckles beside me. I try a tight smile, but I feel rigid.

I feel tired.

"What's up Jase? You seem distant," Tommy notes, quietly enough so that no one else can hear.

I rub my face once, twice, almost forgetting that he asked me anything in the first place. "Just feeling a bit under the weather," I tell him, leaning back in my chair.

I glance out at nothing in particular, my eyes somehow finding Kimberly, who sends me back a wink, mid sentence to my mother. I lick my lips in partial amusement, before she flicks her hair over her shoulder and carries her attention away.

"I wasn't expecting you guys at all," I admit, looking over at Tommy who seems patient enough through this varied conversation.

"Kim and I talked about maybe getting together for your birthday and I think she organized things with your mum," he explains, his eyes over on Kimberly. "I thought maybe you'd have something planned back home."

I'm reading through lines that may be very well non-existent, but the cautious side of me senses that Tommy can very well see that I am a fraud.

"Nuh, no big plans. My birthday came out of nowhere. One minute, I was twenty, the next I'm thirty."

We chuckle a little, dispersing slightly as my mother announces that she's going into the kitchen and asking us all if we want anything. I'm starting to feel a little more than just under the weather.

I'm too tired to use reasonable judgment. To run, to stumble, to ask for help. I need water. I need to lie down. No, water. I need to go where it's dark.

Tommy says something, I'm pretty sure, but for once I'm less concerned by the impression I'm making and focused only on making an escape.

* * *

Kneading inadequately at the sides of my face, I find myself quickly locating enough conscious to dread my actions ten minutes earlier.

That being said, I'm finding it just as despairingly obvious that I haven't had an incident like that for a very long time. Knees on the floor, hands wherever they could manage, my mind moved to places far in the past and solidified on that frightful week after my first ever chemotherapy session; it becomes too automatic to compare. To wonder if I've ever felt this close to dying or wanting to die.

Those thoughts turned to vapor quickly enough, replaced by a rare moment of vanity where the contact of cold water to my cheeks made me recognize my poor attempt to grow some facial hair. In fairness to myself, I can't remember actually deciding to grow anything, but my laziness in the shower as of late is proving the point regardless. I look a little silly. Maybe it's just one of those things that only I will ever notice.

You'll be wondering what just happened downstairs and to tell you the truth, I couldn't tell you. As I said, I've had my fair share of days in bed and the occasional spell of dizziness and abdominal cramps, but whatever happened ten minutes ago hit me from an unknown place. Maybe it was simply the stress of trying so hard not to look sick. Kind of ironic.

As soon as the twisting in my gut ceased, I found I was able to regain myself enough to turn to thoughts of how I'd explain my irrational actions to everyone at my party. My mother had been knocking on the door only a matter of minutes ago, but I used any politeness that remained within me to persuade her that I was okay. Hopefully she hurried downstairs just as quickly to reassure everyone that I am.

But am I okay? It's one of those pointless questions, isn't it, but it begs at me for a moment where I'm less mindful of how I'm performing and more worried about why I'm suddenly feeling this way. I expected that I'd be tired. That I wouldn't be running marathons or climbing hills. And I also knew to expect that eventually…I wouldn't be able to do the things that I was able to do a couple of months before. Is that's what's happening now to me? Is this…the start of that?

I clear my throat a little, stringy phlegm sounding loud enough in the drums of my ear to dull out the intrusion through the door. My eyes catch him briefly and in one instant I'm relieved it's him yet compelled to close the door back between us.

"I'm sorry Jase, I was just using the other bathroom and thought I'd come past and see how you were doing," Adam explains, sounding as sincere as ever.

I nod slowly, deciding to wash my hands. "Guess my mother's chicken didn't agree with me after all," I murmur, focusing on my hands slipping in and out from each other.

I can still feel the clutches of fatigue gripping at me. He's quiet, as though he's studying me.

"Jason…look, I don't want to overstep any lines here…but I sense that you're keeping something from all of us," he mentions softly.

I try not to swallow, as he takes a step toward me. I turn the tap off and reach for the hand towel nearby, holding my eyes steady.

"Like I said, I'm fine."

He doesn't move, instead drawing his lips out a little thinner. It would be honest to say, he's held his age well.

I sigh.

"As I said, I don't want to overstep any lines…I don't want to place any pressure on you," he starts. "I know we never got to know each other really well, but after catching up with Tommy and Kim, and now spending time with you today, I couldn't leave here and not at least extended a hand out to you and say that if you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

He turns to leave and I go to chew on my bottom lip, wondering where this moment of weakness is coming from.

"Adam," I say to his back, waiting for him to turn around. I sigh for what feels like the tenth time. "I appreciate you coming to check on me."

He studies my face for a moment, before he nods slowly. "Any time Jason."

He waits.

Now it's as though I'm bitter, and the foul taste sounds in a broken laugh at myself, shame compelling me to cover my eyes with my hand. "I'm sick, okay," barely loud enough for even myself to hear. "I'm sick and…not going to get better any time soon."

I remain beneath the fake protection of my hand and lower it only as a moment passes and I hear nothing in response.

He remains before me, poised still but lacking any excessiveness in his darkest of dark eyes.

"I was diagnosed with a chronic, indolent cancer in my lymphatic system when I was living in Chicago," I pause, the flashback unavoidable. "I'll never forget the specialist telling me how lucky I was because it was one of the good ones." A sad smile. "Here I am, years later, still lucky enough to be doomed by this incessant curse of an illness."

I can hear Adam sigh as I rub my face. "You haven't told anyone this," he points out softly and I shake my head a little.

"Look Jason, your secret is safe with me, you don't have to worry about that…but this is a lot for anyone to deal with, and I'm sure this isn't news to you. I know what a secret like this can do to isolate you from the people you probably need during a journey like this."

I blink, attempting to register his meaning. "You know what it's like…?"

His eyes tighten against a small sigh and he shakes his head. "I'm not sick, nor have I ever been…I know it sounds insensitive for me to even pretend to understand your situation. But I'm gay…for years…I was too afraid to talk to anyone about it, including my friends and my family."

For a moment, I can actually forget my own situation, stolen immediately by Adam's confession to me. "I had no idea…" I whisper deep in thought. "How long…"

"It took me a bit of growing up for me to really realize that it's how I felt and that I didn't want to live in denial. By keeping it from my friends, I not only isolated them, but they had no idea why I was so distant; they took my detachment as a hint that I didn't want them in my life and as a result, by the time I was nearly done with college, I didn't have a single friend left-."

"Are you guys all right up here?" a quiet voice intrudes between the crack of the ajar door and I freeze a little, my eyes darting to Adam's.

He gestures gently with his hand as though to communicate complete thoughts before replying. "Everything's okay, Kim," he starts, smiling firmly as he opens the door.

Kimberly stands with one hand resting gently on her hip, her big eyes settling as she sees us both. "Your mom told us that you'd been sick since dinner last night, but I started to get a little…lonely down there when everyone started to disappear."

I smile despite anything else, somehow eased effortlessly by Kimberly's honest and lighthearted approach.

"I apologize," I offer, a little bemused as the three of us remain in this congregation in our quaint upstairs bathroom. "Now we just need Tommy to show up and we can really settle in and have a good time."

The three of laugh a little, as though unaware of the vast differences that suddenly rest between us.

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 12 "Tommy's Date":**_

The more I thought about how outrageously illicit the whole situation was, the more I was turned on by it.

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who has read this story this far, and to those who have gone so far as to review, a huge cheers of appreciation :) This story has definitely been the most challenging for me to write personally, as it's very much out of my comfort zone and in a whole other place from where I usually like to write. It's by far not a perfect story, but it's a lot of fun to write and I hope that you continue to enjoy it :) CS_


	12. Tommy's Date

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 12 – Tommy's date**

_While posting this chapter, it made me think of a very dear friend of mine Mili – Thank you for always being a true friend and inspiring me every day._

Sometimes it's hard to see how things come to be a certain way. How it's possible that I'm able to hold onto Kimberly's hand without my brain registering it and debating over I'll never understand, but it's happened. We're still floating from a few drinks at Jason's party, and Kimberly's suggestion of a quiet afternoon in with her now has me curious. Intrigued. Only a little hot. I'm trying to behave, you see.

Our hands are still messily intertwined as she opens the door of her apartment and leads me in, half way through a conversation I have had difficulties keeping up with. I close the door behind us and she spins around, being obvious in her motions.

"I'm going to get changed; pick out a DVD for us to watch," she suggests, as her hand slips from mine and she bounces out of the living room.

I let out a private laugh at her...bounciness, and kick my shoes off, glancing around the various book shelves and cabinets for her movie collection. Books line many of the shelves, their number almost rivaling those really small second-hand book shops you sometimes see. Crouching down, I notice a pile of photos, and despite my good-intentions, I lose to temptation and loosely collect them in my tingling hands, trying not to taste that funny tang in my mouth at the top photo of he and her.

The pile of photos is in no sort of chronological order. It's not like I'm committing a crime, but I shuffle through them as slowly as possible to minimize the sound effects, but the sound of the photos slipping over each other is like the scratching of sandpaper. There's nothing overly significant about any of the photos. There's some of her family mixed with some of the gang from high school. I pause on another photo of Kimberly and Luke, the pair notably dressed in matching gymnastics uniforms, medals draped around both of their necks. The curves of her face were less rounded. There she was, the athlete; a compact, rigid version of her former self. I flick over the photo and notice the date scribed along the bottom.

Pre-break-up letter. I try not to sigh.

I make it disappear to the back of the pile, finding a photo of Jason and Kimberly in one of those poses you take when you have no one else there to take the photo. Kimberly's hair looked a little longer and her face just that little older. Jason seemed in all his glory. I think of him now, and can notice what time has done to us all. I didn't really think that I had aged all that much, but despite the fact that my former best friend doesn't look old, it is clear to me that he has lost whatever it was he had back then.

"A lot of those photos have been sitting there for such a long time," her quiet voice interrupts from behind me and I freeze.

I can't move my head immediately, but decide not to overreact. It would be stupid of me to lie about something not even worth being dishonest about. "I noticed them here, and I was just looking at them…"

My sentence proceeds no further as her legs crisscross toward me and she crouches down beside me, patting the floor playfully at her side.

"Guess you noticed the photos of Luke and I, huh?"

I nod and smile tightly, feeling relieved by the softness in her touch as she gently takes the pile away from me.

"So many memories…" she chews on her bottom lip. I feel compelled to brush back a lock of hair that falls loosely down the side of her face. "When Luke and I first got together, it was hard because so many special memories in my life until him involved you. He never questioned me about it, but a part of me felt ashamed when it wasn't as easy to let go of everything as I thought it might. You and the guys, you were all such a big part of me and I know for certain without those years, I never would have became the girl capable of going to Florida and taking so many chances with my life."

"I um, remember Jason saying something similar to me about his time in Switzerland," I speak up quietly, both our faces intently staring ahead at nothing in particular. "He said that had it not been for his experience as a ranger, he knows for sure he wouldn't have had what it took to be selected for the peace conference." I release a slow, quiet breath. "I think it's important for us to always remember that we can't ignore or deny the things that helped make us who we are today."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her nod before resting her head on her propped up knees. "We shouldn't throw out or get rid of the things that represent how we got to this point in our lives."

"Exactly."

A little quietness, and then: "Hmm…you're a lot deeper than I remember you, Dr. Oliver."

I let out a slightly abashed laugh. "Gees, thanks princess."

She slaps me on the knee playfully. "Did you even pick a DVD out yet?"

I think my face is answer enough. "No…I was too busy snooping on you and thinking about whether or not going out tonight would be something you'd be interested in doing."

"Oh I suppose so," she allows, the sarcasm barely holding beneath the weight of a genuine smile. "Where were you thinking of taking me?"

* * *

Going to see a movie is usually the kinda thing most potential couples choose to do on their first date, but what do you do when it's not your first? When it's not even your thirteenth? There certainly wouldn't be any benefit in me sitting beside Kimberly for two hours, shrouded in complete silence and darkness. It certainly wouldn't go far to help me work out whatever...is potentially between us.

And yes, I'm well aware how clichéd going out for a nice dinner is, but it's what people do, and I thought it was the only way for us to go. Nothing over the top, but nice enough that she would feel special and I would be reminded that it was more than just a meeting between two friends. She is my friend, that much I know is true, but in another setting...with the right mood, who really knows?

I am the first one here, of course. I used to be the late one, and now the tables have turned. There's a hell of a lot of amusement in that one, sentimental thought. God, I was late to more after school dates than battles we had as rangers. When I did eventually turn up, I remember how she would always cast her eyes on me and tell me it was worth the wait. Man, she had a beautiful smile when she said that.

"Tommy?"

I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder and shoot up to standing, grabbing the back of my head as I feel it collide with something. Spinning around, I slap myself mentally as I realize I've head-butted my date and the small crowd around us is trying not to stare.

"Kim, I'm so sorry," I reach for her hands, which are stuck to her face.

She lowers them, a grimace sounding, before she lets out a little giggle. "You could have given me some warning," she murmurs dryly.

I sigh, fussing over her a little, before she reaches for my arms. "I'm fine, Tommy," she assures me lightly. "I'm glad I make you so excited."

I let out a little laugh, pulling a seat out for her while I inconspicuously drink her in. She always had a way with dressing that I can't explain. I don't know why, but every time I've seen her lately, I keep expecting her to turn up in a pink tank top and pair of daisy dukes. Tonight, I expected her to turn up in a floral dress. Instead, she's wearing this purple top that hugs her with a quiet confidence. Her smell is as soft and subtle as her hair. She's wearing jewelry, but it's just a touch. She looks so pretty, without advertising it.

"You look nice," she comments, tapping me on the arm, before she glances around. "I really love this place, I have always wanted to come here."

"So, I picked well then?"

She looks thoughtfully for a moment, before smiling almost to herself. "Yeah, you did," she nods.

We ordered our meals, downed two drinks each and started digging into our entrée of cheesy bread as soon as the plate hit our table. The steam was literally burning off the bread, and yet we just kept going. Our conversations were as colorful as our pasts, and yet we were just the cliché I had been thinking of earlier. Just a couple of twenty-somethings, talking about stuff that people just talked about because it's what they did.

"Can I ask you something?" It comes out before I realize it, and I watch her nod, her mouth full with some of her meal.

I lower my cutlery, fiddling with my napkin. "I know that you and Luke had problems for a while...but I always, I mean...you never told me why you guys didn't take it to the next step, get married..."

Her chewing slows, but there's nothing else overly noticeable in her reaction. Instead, she swallows and moves to scoop up another spoonful, a smile fleetingly on show. "You know...um," she lowers her spoon and I instantly feel bad, almost going so far as to reach for her hand. "I always thought we would get married, you know, have a family, be normal like everyone else. We would talk about it. I just expected it, I guess we both did," her voice falls softly.

"It's okay, if you don't want to talk about this-."

"No, it's fine, really," she assures me, reaching for my hand with her own. Her eyes lower. "I always wanted children, you know how much I love kids."

Despite everything, I can't help but smile. I can remember fondly Kimberly's passion for children and how much she always wanted to have them, just so she could be a good mother.

"Luke and I tried, I mean, we didn't really try. We wanted to get married first, but so much came up...his business took off and there was so little time, but I never stopped wanting more for us," she pauses. "I started to wonder why I wasn't falling pregnant...we weren't trying, but I guess we figured if it happened, it would be the right time for us. But it never happened..."

She sighs and with my hand still remaining linked with hers, I just stare, trying so hard not to. I pray it's not true. I pray she won't tell me that she can't bare kids; I honestly wouldn't know how to respond.

"It wasn't me, Tommy, it was Luke," she finally tells me, squeezing my hand. "It took us over a year to work it out and I told him I didn't care...that I loved him and if we couldn't have children of our own, I would be fine. But, it wasn't fine for long. We would fight about it constantly- he got to the stage where he was trying to convince me that we didn't need to have children to be complete and I just couldn't do it."

"I had no idea," the words push out in a breath.

Suddenly, everything I thought about this woman, all the endless assumptions I harbored on her seem so...wrong. I can literally feel the realization dawn over my face as a shadow, outlining a deep frown.

"You don't have to feel bad, Tommy, it was a long time ago. It was just the catalyst...I loved him," her voice turns scratchy, catching me with a prickly admission I all ready knew, but had never heard from her mouth. "But we just held on for so long, that we lost track of what we were doing. I don't think he wanted us to end, because he would feel like a failure- how could he possibly coach anyone about life, when he couldn't even hang onto his own relationship?" She shrugs. "I guess I held on for so long because I really didn't know any different."

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth. Here we are, sitting in this really nice, warm and vibrant setting, clinging to each other's hands out of need, rather than want. Anyone looking at us must be thinking we are the two people breaking up.

I clear my throat, squeezing her hand one last time, before slowly retracting it. "You know, you should have told me about this," I decide to tell her, watching as she sits up attentively. "I just assumed you broke up because-."

"I was a selfish bitch," she cuts in- nothing nasty in her voice and I nod reluctantly. Her smile widens. "Well, I'm not perfect, Tommy, but no one really is, right?"

I shrug a little, tempted to play with her. I take a sip of my drink. "Do you regret it?"

"The break-up or the relationship?"

"Either..."

"No," she shakes her head. "We had a good run...and as much as I still have stuff to deal with, I feel like I'm where I need to be in my life. It's kinda like a fresh start, you know?"

"A clean slate is good," I agree. "Listen, I don't want to misconstrue why I wanted to bring you out for dinner, Kim. I'm not trying to push anything, but I..." I was never good with words. "I like you."

Kimberly lifts a hand to her mouth, muffling out a giggle. "Tommy, you're sweet..."

I roll my eyes, shifting in my chair. "Just the type of response any guy is after when he tells a woman he's in love," the final word hangs before me and I want to grab it, but it's too late.

I don't love her. That really came out wrong.

She leans back. "You love me now?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You sure cut to the chase, we haven't even had desert yet."

This long, strained breath struggles out between my lips. A grimace. "Kim, I didn't mean to say it like...that," my grimace moves on. "I meant to say that I would like to maybe go on another date or several..."

She doesn't say anything and I finally look at her.

"Tell me what you think," I ask patiently.

Her napkin rolls in between her fingers, as slowly as the breath bunching in my mouth.

"I would really like that," she finally admits in a small voice; a young voice, in the voice of Kimberly. "I would also like to go someplace else tonight, after we finish here."

Flicked switch. It's already after eight, where would Kimberly possibly want to go by the time desert is over? Back to her place?

"Where do you have in mind?" I wonder almost huskily.

"It's just someplace I would like you to see," she admits. "Somewhere quiet and away from all this."

* * *

So, I haven't been on a lot of dates in my life, but there are things that you just know, kinda like the bible for dating and interaction. It hasn't brought me a whole lot of luck, but the one thing I do know is that if a girl wants you to drive her late at night to an 'exclusive' lookout spot, then you should probably consider yourself one hell of a lucky guy because let's face it, people don't go up to those places to just sit in the car.

And it took me the whole drive to wonder through what Kimberly's intentions were, while I tried to remain as settled as possible, driving and feigning responses as she babbled away though generalized conversations. She kept pointing out spots of interest, gushing out childhood memories as though I hadn't been by her side to experience most of them with her and the whole time, I was doing the whole nodding of the head thing.

Come on, I know Kimberly was never backwards in going forwards, but I really don't picture her as the type of woman to instigate a midnight romp in the back of a car. I know it's not exactly our first date, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time I've had her tongue in my mouth, but so much of me knew that this was wrong, and yet I kept on driving. The more I thought about how outrageously illicit the whole situation was, the more I was turned on by it.

But as quickly as I felt myself stir at the thought of having Kimberly, my erratic impulses were just as swiftly diminished as we arrived at the designated outlook and her face lit up with an almost innocent joy.

"Do you recognize where we are?" she asked as soon as I pulled the car to a stop.

I unlocked my seatbelt, remaining in my seat as I glanced out at the wonder that befell my eyes. Angel Grove was seemingly at our feet, pockets of suburbia glistening in the far west, while out ahead, the beauty of the Nerrandera Mountains slept in peaceful serenity, a complete contrast as it remained wrapped beneath darkness.

It was beautiful. But I had no idea what the hell Kimberly was trying to point out.

"Wow…the memories just keep flooding back…" I murmur with a hint of sarcasm, before she twists around in her seat and sighs impatiently.

"I should expect that your memory wouldn't improve with age, but I can't believe you can't see it!" she points with an extended hand. "The command center used to be just through that passing there…"

It wasn't there anymore, of course, but I was still momentarily livened by the reminder of our ranger headquarters. After all, it was a home away from home for most of us...a place which was stolen from us during a year that was as harrowing in our personal lives, as it was in our professional lives.

Still, I look for its tall, camouflaged mass as though it still remains, and as I give up and look over at Kimberly, I can tell she's doing the same thing.

Emotions expel through her eyes, a continuous cycle between sublime joy, saddened regret and a longing that I can poignantly understand. I don't want to disrupt her, but it's almost as though the insects are playing a game and their sudden hymn from outside unites our intentions inside.

She shifts distractingly, her eyelashes flickering as she smiles with almost embarrassment.

"You all right?" I ask her gently, moving my hand to rest it on arm.

She nods quickly. "Yeah, it's just whenever I think about the command center and Zordon-." She stops, and it's as though we both silently whisper "_amen_" beneath our breaths. "It was such a long time ago, but sometimes it's as though it all happened just yesterday…I don't know what the hell I did with my life…"

"You went out and achieved some great things and then you settled for a normal life, that's what you did," I tell her. "You were one of the greatest gymnasts this country had ever seen."

She smiles a little bitter-sweetly. "Yeah, and look where it got me- I'm twenty-nine and seem to know less than what I did when I was seventeen," she claims, licking her lips. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to spoil the night with my dramatics…"

I chuckle and my hand slips to hers. "Don't worry, Kim, you're not the only one of us wondering what went wrong…"

"Oh, this coming from a self-proclaimed satisfaction freak," she counters cockily, and I mock a look of inflicted pain. "You've told me at least a dozen times that you couldn't be happier with the way your life has turned out."

I nod. "And I stand by that claim…but satisfaction isn't the same as ultimate happiness. I don't hate my job, I have a decent house and at the moment, probably the least amount of pressure in my entire life. But there are things that I could imagine would make my life into something pretty damn spectacular, rather than just good."

She rests her head against her chair, moon light shifting to highlight the discreet curves of her body. "What would make your life perfect, Tommy?" she whispers.

I'm almost afraid to reply, not because I question what I know is true in my heart, but because I don't know if Kimberly really is part of it.

I squeeze her hand, and the nerves just _drive_ all over the thin skin of my gut. "It would be nice to have someone to watch television with at night, sometimes…someone who likes to jog early in the mornings with me, or someone who is at that point in their life where they just wanted to cruise along…"

The tension is, well, fogging up the windows.

"I like to jog in the mornings," she finally lets out in a breathy voice, and I can't help it; I smile, and she smiles, and then we laugh a little, and somehow our faces inch close enough to distract me from any doubts I had about stepping over any lines with Kimberly.

Our first kiss is awkward at best, even more so than how I remember our very first kiss being those fourteen-years earlier. It's a gentle touch, her lips resting in the groves between mine, as I mentally debate dragging her over the center console between us and wrapping her bare legs around my waist. Just thinking of actually fucking her is making me lose my mind and I am weakened and unnerved by it. I've never wanted anything so much in my whole life, yet not wanted it just as much.

The thought of this terrifies me. The thought of her terrifies me.

As her face pulls back a little and floats before me, I raise my hand to her cheek and stroke it, before moving her gently toward me for a second, more emphatic kiss. A swallowed murmur; her hand on my shoulder, molding the silk of my shirt against my skin so unconsciously. My mouth takes a leap of faith, sliding from her lips to brush gently along her jawline, fueled further only by her broken breaths numbing my cheek.

I can hear her speak, and I whisper back, but there's no link in our words, only in our intentions. We pull our hearts from the accelerator and taste the moment, the height of drenching sensuality slowing in time for me to reconsider everything I think I want from her at this moment.

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 13 "Kimberly's Purpose"**_

He props his elbow up onto the counter, leaning forward a little. "Actually, this is more of a personal call, rather than a professional one," he clarifies and I raise my eyebrows a little.


	13. Kimberly's Purpose

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 13 – Kimberly's Purpose**

Despite how it may have appeared, Tommy and I did not sleep together last night.

Am I shocked? No, of course not. I couldn't have, I mean, it would have been too strange, you know? But still, that didn't stop my body wanting him a little; my mind picturing it a little.

It was while we were stargazing at Arnold's lookout- in between a few very shy kisses and the tamest fondling you could ever imagine that Tommy caught sight of my watch and said the time out loud. It was almost one in the morning. And well, I quickly remembered that I wasn't in a time warp, but that I was actually a twenty-nine year old woman who had a job to go to the next morning. So we called it a night and he drove me home. I had a light smile on my face the whole drive and Tommy talked an awful lot which really took me by surprise.

I'm doing my hair now, in case you're wondering. Honestly, I don't know why I bother trying to do it on days like this. I didn't even get a chance to wash my hair because I got home so late and now it's so unmanageable because it's slicked with last night's styling product. _Ugh_...

Screw it; I'm putting it up in a ponytail.

I jumble it around and pile it at the crown of my head and as I twist and tangle a hair tie in my free hand, I hear the doorbell chime.

"I'm coming!" I call out with a fake enthusiasm, before I scrunch my nose up and finish my hair.

My heels scatter over the floor boards as I head for the door, stopping and peering through the viewing hole.

"Oh my gosh..." I whisper, flinching away as I realize that's Tommy ringing my doorbell.

"I heard that," he murmurs lightly.

I open the door and study him thoughtfully. He looks great.

"Morning," he says with what I sense is a little awkwardness.

"Hi. I, uh, I have work..." How could he not remember that?

"I know that, I thought you might like a lift," he offers, glancing down at his watch. "You start at nine, right?"

A small smile spreads on my face, my hand finding its way to my hip. "Wow, you really were paying attention last night," I comment with genuine surprise. "And your memory is working better today…"

"Yeah," he manages in this damn sexy, shy manner that almost buckles me over. Is that harps playing the background, or the sound of my phone ringing?

It's the latter, unfortunately, and I motion for him to come in as I scurry for the phone but arrive just in time for the machine to pick up. Screening for a moment, Carmel's voice feathers on, as animated as always. "Kim, you went on a date with a doctor and didn't tell me? Please don't tell me you slept with him when-."

I inhale briskly and quickly rip the phone from its cradle, before hanging it back up, the skin on my face so heavily bound that I can only imagine how red I look. Turning slowly, I push my lips together as I spot him leaning against the archway to my kitchen, his eyebrows perched high in an amused expression.

I smile tightly. "That was, uh...Carmel...she's kinda like a sister to me," I start, clicking my tongue.

He adjusts his glasses. "I guess I should be flattered?"

My smile relaxes bashfully and I nod a little, scooping my handbag up from the floor. "Can I still take you up on your offer for a lift?" I ask hopefully, waiting patiently for the skin of my cheeks to decrease in temperature.

He nods, barely hiding his attempt to find humor in my squirming. "We can pick-up some breakfast on the way if you like?"

I nod quickly, discreetly fussing with my hair one last time before I lock the door to my apartment. "That would be great, Tommy," I tell him honestly. I pause, before I put my keys in my bag and manage to lift my eyes his way. "I guess I wasn't expecting you to come by again so soon," I confess.

"Well, I had a good time last night. I wasn't sure what the etiquette was on calling or coming to see you because to tell you the truth…I kinda suck at this."

I laugh softly and he chuckles with me.

"Well, for what it's worth, Tommy, I think you're doing a good job so far," I assure him, smiling gently as we head for the stairwell. "But look, why don't we…make it easy on the both of us? Let's just promise to take our time and most of all, we don't need to rush anything. I already know you're a good guy, Tommy."

"So you know I'm a good guy, but do you know what I like to eat for breakfast?" he wonders, and I'm actually surprised by his show of wit.

I think deeply for a moment. No answer comes to mind. "I have no idea…"

"Guess it's just something for us to find out," he says, as we reach the bottom of the stairs and he opens the door for me.

* * *

So, to answer Tommy's question for you, he likes to eat bagels for breakfast. Which perhaps comes as a surprise to me for some reason, although I don't really know what the alternatives would be.

Bagels and coffee. Black with no sugar. Reportedly, he's sweet enough, or just a lot more conscious of dental work than I.

I smile a little to myself, picking at some of my leftover breakfast as I read over the newspaper, butt perched on a stool behind the counter at work. Outside, Larry Denton, owner of the store next door, walks past and offers his usual animated wave. I wave back and giggle a little to myself, the side of my head tipping to rest on the open palm of my hand.

"Kimberly?"

My eyes pop open a little, my body flinging to attention before I let out a little hoot and the well-dressed man at the door smiles politely.

"Busy morning?"

I smile and chew my lip, a tad embarrassed. "I um…" I slap my thigh a little. "I guess this is why you earn the big bucks, while I slum it with the little guys."

Adam opens the right side of his jacket, removing a check book from one of the internal pockets. "I was wondering if you would be able to help me purchase some artwork?" he questions with a mock supremacy, smiling at me and wiggling the book in his hand.

I grin back and close the newspaper over, folding it to the side and motioning him to pull up a stool on the other side of the counter. As he takes a seat, I find my hands skimming over my pencil skirt, discreetly ensuring I look my very best.

"So…how can I help you?" I ask him. "You decided to check out the charcoal prints I mentioned to you at dinner?"

He props his elbow up onto the counter, leaning forward a little. "Actually, this is more of a personal call, rather than a professional one," he clarifies and I raise my eyebrows a little.

"Of course, what are you after?"

"I've been thinking seriously about funding and running a charity auction for the oncology department at the Memorial Hospital, and I was thinking, wondering, if you guys would be interested at all in donating a painting."

I sit up a little, genuinely surprised by his proposal. "Wow Adam, that sounds like an amazing cause," I tell him honestly. "I can't say we've ever been approached to take part in something like that, but I'm sure if I speak to John Morrissey who owns this gallery that he would be more than willing to contribute something from the store."

Adam taps the surface of the counter lightly, as though with excitement and his face lights up in appreciation. "That would be fantastic, Kim."

I cross my legs at my feet. "So…if you don't mind me asking, what is your motivation for organizing something like this?" I wonder curiously.

"Well, Cameron and I have been very fortunate with the support we've received over the last number of years and I see this as a way to give a bit back to the community. Particularly now that we have such an extended network involving a lot of the local businesses, I think we really have the potential to use what we have to help a worthy cause."

As he finishes his explanation, I find myself not responding as I should, and staring as I shouldn't. To anyone else who doesn't know this man, a project like this could be classed as admirable by some and even publicity seeking by the more skeptical, but I find myself absolutely blown away by the sheer honesty in Adam's intentions and the gravity in such a cause.

The once quietly honorable hero is now a hero in his own right.

"I'm sorry," he almost blushes, that warm sincerity thriving in his sudden movement. "I didn't mean to sound as though I was giving a speech-."

"Oh please, Adam," I cut him off, reaching over to still his hands. "I think that sounds absolutely amazing."

"You do?"

"Yes," I nod my head in one sweeping enthusiastic motion. "You are using what you have to make such a huge difference to a facility that helps so many people…To be honest," my eyes almost warble. "I was taken completely off-guard, because I don't think I could ever have the heart or mind to think of something that could make such a difference to people's lives."

He shakes his head and I can see that I've almost embarrassed him, but his beautiful modesty is irreproachable. "Kim, how can you think that after all the amazing things you've achieved for this very city in your life?" he asks me. "Don't forget about those achievements…I never have."

Now it's my turn to give way to a warm blush. "All of…that…feels so long ago…"

As my sentence trails off, his cell phone chimes and he removes it from his pocket, prodding at it with a stylus. His face holds completely still, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as his hand moves over the screen a million miles per hour.

He returns the lavish device to his pocket and apologizes quickly. "I remember the days before cell phones," he laughs and I giggle with him. "It was really nice being in a position where people didn't know how to find you."

"Oh, I totally agree," I share, concealing the little voice in me that is currently pointing out the very small amount of calls I ever receive on my own. "Although I guess when we were rangers, having a communicator strapped to our wrists twenty-four hours a day was just as bad."

We sigh in an almost peaceful unison, before I quickly regain my composure, and straighten up, smiling tightly. "I guess I probably shouldn't waste your time reminiscing, you must have a million appointments today."

"Only eight," he corrects warmly. "And you forget that I'm the one who stopped past to waste your time."

My mouth opens a little before I smile. "I do…"

"Here's my card," he reaches into his wallet, handing me a glossy business card, his name so beautifully printed across the top of it. "If you can pass that onto John Morrissey and let him know a bit about what I'm after, I would be really grateful. You can let him know he can contact me after hours if it's more suitable for him."

"I will, I promise," I assure him, popping the card next to the register.

I expect him to stand up and say farewell, but instead he remains still, glancing at the wall behind me.

"Now…if you have a spare moment, I would be very interested in checking out those charcoal prints you were telling me about."

"Really?" I ask surprised.

He chuckles. "You didn't think I bought the check book with me for show, did you?"

I stand up from my stool, and motion to him to follow me, preparing my sales voice for everything it's worth.

* * *

It's not typical that I would feel this tired after a day of work at the gallery, but funnily enough I'm feeling the ache of fatigue in the soles of my shoes as I make my way up to my apartment tonight. Outside, the daylight was exhausted before I found a cab to escort me back home and I still haven't had any dinner. Work wasn't particularly physically demanding, but we made a lot of sales. John still couldn't wipe the smile off his face as I made my exit, especially when he took a look at just how much Park-Richardson Financial services splurged on artwork in one visit.

Opening my front door, I drag my feet in and go through my usual routine. Kick my shoes off in front of my bookcase, drop my handbag on the couch and toss my jacket messily on top of it. No matter the time, the routine is generally the same and the greeting when I get home seems just as predictable. Complete silence and the soft glow of a tiny lamp in the corner that flicks on when the sensor light tells it to. Sometimes, like tonight, there's the tiny red flashing of my answering machine attempting to grab my attention.

I notice it, but saunter meekly past it at first, opening my fridge to retrieve some leftovers to pick at before I click the playback button.

_[Hey Kim. It's Jase. I realized that I don't have your cell number. I just wanted to touch bases, I got your message and thought I'd let you know that I'm feeling much better after yesterday. Maybe we can catch up sometime? Give me a call.]_

Beep.

_[Kim it's Tommy. I hope I'm not sounding too much like a stalker, but I found your sunglasses on the floor of my car. It was good catching up this morning. Um, I'll speak to you soon. Okay. See you.]_

Beep. Beep.

Back to silence, dried out Thai food and the blisters on my feet.

"And this is your purpose, Kim…" I whisper to myself absentmindedly.

I scratch at the breast of my shirt, removing Adam's business card which I remembered to take home with me so I could write his business number down in my address book. The shiny card illuminates under the light from the kitchen above, and I tip it back and forth, watching its coating shimmer like the surface film on a body of water.

For the life of me, I can't quite discover the comfort I usually find in being here at home and knowing I have a good fifteen hours until I have to be at work again. I feel this unexplained desire to run around my apartment and flick on all the lights, and yet I'd still be under no illusions. No amount of blinding luminosity could diminish the dark truth that I've been avoiding for some time.

It's not loneliness, but somehow something that makes me feel that same amount of isolated dread. I stab my cold leftovers several times with my fork, before finally pushing the container away with disinterest. What the hell is wrong with me?

Think Kim, think. Why do I feel so…underfed by my life all of a sudden? My mind flicks back to my talk with Tommy at Arnold's lookout last night and I replay his words a few times. Part of me feels as though I can relate, and yet somehow I know my problem isn't remotely the same. Tommy's looking for something to add to his life, to somehow make him whole. Whether or not that something is me, I don't know. In his presence, it feels so natural to want to be that for him, yet I don't feel whole enough to possibly provide him with what he needs.

Who would want this? Whatever…I am. I have a job, but it's not exactly a career. A cluttered apartment that offers only false preconceptions that I am highly literate. Whenever anyone asks me what my accomplishments have been over the past ten years I have very little to offer them except to tell them that I handed in a profession as an international gymnast to be with a man who doesn't want me anymore.

My purpose…is nonexistent.

At fifteen, I was selected to serve as a protector of Angel Grove; to be an ambassador of peace, a ripe bud of youth destined to travel to third-world countries to help the poor and sick. I joined causes and fought for other's rights. I volunteered to help the elderly. I scrubbed walls clean from graffiti, coached junior high cheerleading and tutored English. My life was forever evolving, I was forever dreaming, and my future was forever a certainty.

A conviction I somehow lost before I reached that final destination.

I flop my head down on the kitchen bench, turning my face sideward to stare out at nothing. Exhaustion feels so much more draining when you feel like you don't even have the motivation to turn on the television. I've already read this month's Cleo magazine. I consider calling my mom, but the time difference assures that she would still be very much asleep.

My eyes keep finding Adam's impressive business card and without so much of a thought, I grab my phone from its cradle and dial the number. I immediately feel a jolt of uncertainty and almost hang up, lowering the phone, before I hear a mute voice filter through the speaker.

"Oh, um," I stammer, smacking the phone to my ear. "Adam?"

"Kim," he guesses. "This is a surprise."

I stand up from my stool, hoping that movement will somehow fuel my brain into erudite speech.

"I'm sorry this is so out of the blue," I ramble hastily, grabbing the edge of my kitchen bench with my free hand.

"No problems at all, I actually just got off the phone from John. He's keen to get involved with the charity auction and has agreed to donate a canvas to the cause."

"I know, he told me all about the painting before I left tonight," I almost cut him off, genuinely thrilled. "It's one of my favorites, you will love it." I pause, preparing my words. "Um, so I hope I'm not calling at a bad time, I was just thinking a lot about what you talked about today and I…I was sitting here thinking about how I'd really like to do something to help."

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, I'm not sure to be truthful," I pause again. "It's just…talking to you today made me realize a few things that I hadn't seen beforehand. I've lived a pretty privileged life the past decade and yet…I've done nothing with it. I feel empty in a way. Like I need to be doing more."

"Like return to your old roots?"

"Yes," I nod, despite knowing he can't see me. "I don't know what I'm capable of doing or giving, but I wanted you to know that if you need somebody to help…someone to talk to people, get places involved, hand out fliers, whatever it is, I would love to help you."

He doesn't respond right away. I hear a little background noise before finally he speaks. "I would really like that Kim."

"Really?" I need reassurance or something, and I'm speaking too quickly.

"Definitely," he assures me earnestly. "I know it's been a long time for us since we've really touched bases, but you're not someone the world forgets very easily Kim. I think your involvement in something like this could make a huge difference."

My face is sort of going a bit sing-song, swaying a little, fingers reaching to twirl the non-existent phone cord. I'm up on my toes and then flat on my soles; up then down again. I tell him that I'll speak to him soon and he tells me he'll call me in the next few days to talk over some plans. I feel elated as we end the call, deciding to reward myself with a freshly cooked TV meal.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 14 "Jason's Appointment"**_

Don't tell me.

I already know…

"I'm sorry Jason…but the pathology that came back has identified a spread to the tissue near-."


	14. Jason's Appointment

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 14 – Jason's Appointment**

"Uh um," I clear my throat, louder than I intended to, my hands resting on the dark oak counter that stands proudly before me. "I was wondering if there was any chance that I'd be able to see Adam Park?"

The young woman sitting behind the reception desk smiles politely, her eyes blinking at me unknowingly, her professionalism steadfast. "Do you have an appointment?" she asks me.

"Um, no I don't," I reply, feeling like a bit of an idiot.

She gestures a little with a light hand, as the phone before her rings and she excuses herself to pick it up.

"This is Kelly," she answers, before humming suspected responses to whoever is on the other line. My eyes wander from left to right and I'll admit it, I'm lost for words.

It's early Thursday morning and I'm standing in the front foyer of Park-Richardson Financial services. Occupying the entire first floor of the Copedo Junction business center, the front-of-house is sparse enough to fit in an entire office; instead, it's occupied by a few oversized guest couches, abstract artwork and a front reception desk that is larger in size than my car. It's urban modesty, with just enough glamor to solidify the reputation these guys have for being one of the best financial dealers in the city.

I return my attention back to the girl at the desk as she captures my attention once again. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. Did you want to make an appointment to see Adam?" she asks me, rotating a computer screen on an angle as she types away. "Unfortunately he's all booked up until the end of April, but I can put you down on the list to call if we get any cancellations."

I lean over the desk a little. "I was actually here on a personal matter," I explain. "Adam's a friend of mine. I was really hoping to see him today if I could."

She tries not to show her doubt. "He is pretty booked up…"

My eyes leave her as I hear Adam's familiar voice nearby and I watch as he appears from a nearby doorway, shaking a woman's hand before handing her a pile of papers. I discreetly slide away from the reception desk, heading slowly over toward him, careful not to interrupt the exchange of farewells.

He doesn't notice me immediately and nearly turns away, but I reach out my hand and flick him a wave.

"Jason," he acknowledges, before offering me a smile. "It's good to see you."

I smile tightly, closing the gap between us. "Listen, I know now is probably not a good time, but I was wondering if maybe you and I could catch up sometime, have a chat…"

"I told you Jason, I'm here if you need me," he reiterates seriously and cocks his head, motioning for me to follow him. "Just let me know when you're free, and we can head across the street, they have great coffee."

We walk slowly through the door he just appeared through, heading up a wide, open hall.

"Well, I'm free…today," I pause, remembering my conversation with the receptionist out the front. "But I spoke to your receptionist and she mentioned you're booked up for the rest of the month."

"If you're free this morning, than so am I," Adam assures me, turning in through an open doorway. I notice a plaque on the door with his name inscribed.

"Take a seat," he motions to a leather chair at the front of a large desk. Trays overflowing with pages stack up on one end of the table, but otherwise his office is less showy than the front foyer.

"Nice set-up you have here," I mention, as he drops down in his seat opposite me.

"It's not bad," he agrees with muted pride, putting on a pair of spectacles as he turns his attention to his laptop. "Just let me make some adjustments to my schedule today and we can head out for a bit if you want."

"Oh, I don't want you to go to-."

"All done," he cuts me off gently, closing the lid of his computer. I let out a brisk laugh.

"Just one of the perks of being the boss?" I guess.

"I like to think so, just don't say that to Cameron, he likes to think he's in charge," Adam jokes and inside I realize that I'm going out for a coffee and talk and have no idea on what I'm going to say.

* * *

So I'm sitting here, almost timidly fiddling with a laminated menu on my lap, and I'm missing the pronunciation of a million words that keep entering my mind at this very moment. Namely sensible, obvious ones such as wanting to interrupt Adam's…continuous generosity and other less tangible things that I can't seem to reiterate for you because they're so damn messy.

Adam's almost overwhelming sense of charitableness is making me uncomfortable as much as I wish it wouldn't.

The waitress taking our orders scoops up our menus and I scratch the nape of my neck, clearing my throat whilst trying not to look like such a stiff. As such, I fail miserably.

"I hope that didn't make you too awkward, we do the books for these guys and in exchange they promise me a good cup of coffee," he explains lightly.

I shake my head only a little. "No, you're right Adam. I don't go…out a lot. I'm not used to people dropping everything in their day to go out with me and picking up the tab at the same time."

"Have you ever tried asking them?"

I feel my throat constrict as I struggle momentarily to comprehend the meaning of his question. His…proving of a point. My eyes drop a little and I settle back in my chair as his lips tighten.

"I can't say I really do, no," I offer him the answer he should be expecting. "I guess at the beginning, you just expect it…then overtime, it just becomes too much. You find the attention and attentiveness overwhelming. You want everyone to disappear and then eventually, you find yourself alone."

Adam leans forward a little, clasping his hands that rest on the table between us. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad," he almost apologizes and I go to speak but he keeps me quiet. "I'm so unbelievably sorry to hear about your cancer, Jason, and I know that you must get that a lot but I really mean it."

"I haven't heard that in awhile, believe it or not. I haven't…been in this position for as long as I can remember. Having to look at someone I know face to face and tell them and wait for them to apologize."

He nods subtly. "What sort of treatment have they given you?" he asks quietly.

"Initially, I had chemotherapy. It was a sure thing. I was almost led into my own sense of immortality because everyone seemed so damn sure that six months later I would look back at it all and it would be nothing more than a bad case of the flu. What started out as just a bit of bad news just kept unraveling with time. The cancer spread. I had radiation treatment. More chemotherapy," I can feel my voice lower with each spoken word as my recollections progressively steal me from reality.

I feel my mouth and jaw fall heavy as my head becomes weighted by my stony stance. I part my lips slightly, numbly lifting my eyes to refocus on Adam. "Pretty much as quickly as I reached remission I was taken away from it. When I was in hospital, I met other cancer sufferers and their support helped keep me focused but I guess in the end…my focus was on everything but accepting my own situation."

I stop at that, Cindy's name laying low beneath my tongue, its bitterness souring anything left for me to say.

Adam's quiet for a moment, his eyes looking at me but not staring. I can sense his disbelief and non-acceptance and he shakes his head a little, "How have your family been?"

"Fine, as long as I am," I state lowly. "I feel suffocated at the best of times…for a long time I couldn't cope with knowing that I had the potential to pull my family apart. I packed up, and went and spent time with a family I'd met through some of my stays at the hospital and ended up staying there much to my family's disappointment."

My eyes flick up a little and I lose my focus as the waitress places our hot, milky drinks before us, Adam offering her his signature serve of gratitude before she leaves us be. I dip the spoon into my Cappuccino, watching the froth on top swirl and mess its stagnant crust as I begin to stir.

"So if I'm not pressuring you with too many questions, why are you back in Angel Grove now?" Adam asks, swallowing a mouthful of drink as his words reach over to me.

I still haven't taken a sip. "I…don't know, to be honest." The spoon still swirls and I can stare at nothing else but nothing at all. "I lost someone…I um I-."

The spoon rattles sharply against the mug's edge and it falls from my hand as I become caught in a simultaneous motion of trying to stand, trying to cover my face and trying not to spill my drink.

My throat constricts and my head hangs low. I feel relieved to escape the burden of Adam trying to ease me at this moment.

"You want to know the hardest thing for me, Adam? To be back in this place, the place I thought I would never leave, only to find nothing here but the people I love doing nothing more than letting life pass them by while expecting me to make the most of mine."

The defiance in my voice is by all standards, unexpected and he holds my leveled gaze long enough to watch me finally take my first sip. My eyes feel sad and hollow.

"So why not…help show them the way?"

The hot liquid scalds away the unsteadiness of my tongue. "What do you mean?"

"Well," his head tips a little to the side, his fingers hanging at the side of his drink. "Sometimes when we're so busy trying to run away from people it makes them anxious and then we start to resent their behavior. You can't control the outcome of your cancer, but it's never too late to open up to people."

"If I open up to people…" I try to imagine the prospect in my head, "It means when I…go…I leave them with nothing."

Adam's body shuffles and leans against the opposite side of his chair. "Do you really think that either way, people are not going to experience your loss Jason? You keep yourself at a distance and you may as well already be gone from their lives."

Listen to him. Just listen. Listen. Hear the words. All I hear is her. Her words. These were her words. Once upon a time.

"You mentioned you lost someone," he continues more softly. "You know what it's like to lose someone that you care about."

"When I lost Cindy…I felt as though I lost my entire life…and not just because I loved her…but because her strength and courage stole me…The more she fought her illness, the more I longed to do nothing else but fight it with her. I wanted to be everything she needed and I was…she died anyway and what do I have left? Nothing but myself and I don't even know where I am or how I feel or what I want anymore."

"I know it hurts Jase, but it hurts a lot more not even having the chance to love anything or need anything," he says simply, less woefully than I expected. "I know that sounds so easy for me to say, but think about it this way – you say that you feel nothing and that you don't want to doom anyone else with your own situation. Yet at the very same time, here you are feeling nothing but sadness because you want to fix everyone else's lives. Wishing that they could have more. Don't let go of that Jason…I know what it's like to pull so far away from people because I'm afraid for myself, but that never stopped me feeling afraid for them."

_Fear…_

"Make a difference," I whisper intently.

"Make a difference to your life Jason and you'll see how much you can make a difference to theirs. What do you have to lose? People need you. You need to guide them and I guarantee you, you won't ever regret having the chance to change a person's life."

I have become lost in this conversation over coffee. Dazed by the heaviness of our words and lacquered by the contrast of lively aroma that struggles up my nostrils. I feel engaged by Adam's intentness. Inspired by the opposite of the loneliness I've self-inflicted; eased by this first opportunity in so, so long that I've had to speak to a person other than myself.

Adam Park, whilst sharing with me a kindred bond through childhood sacrifice and unquestionable dedication, barely knows me, and yet how can he know me as well as her voice that I hate and protest so much?

"I'm sorry," I realize that I've said very little for longer than I can possibly comprehend.

He shakes his head, finishing off his drink, the cup sounding against its matching underbelly as he places it back down. "I lost my father to prostate cancer three years ago this summer," I don't even get an opportunity to speak as he continues. "I'm not here to be the martyr or tell you what you already know. I'm not an expert and I don't know what it's like to be told that I might not be around for as long as I expected to be. My pain is something that I buried through dedication to my work and through hoping that somehow in some small way, I can make a difference. That I can make him proud of me."

"I'm…sorry," I murmur, not through detachment but because I usually find it easier to feel pain from others than from myself.

"Because of my shame…my distrust that my family would support my lifestyle choices, I barely saw my father during the time when he would have needed me most. It's the biggest mistake of my life…I can't ever take it back."

I nod, recognizing the heavy truth in that myself. The moment of silence lasts a little longer than normal, but it's not uncomfortable and gives me a moment to check my watch, only slightly wary of the time.

"I have a…doctor's appointment this afternoon," I explain to him, noticing him notice my attention wane. I smile tightly. "Sometimes I wonder why I even go anymore, they're always the same but I think at least…knowing that I couldn't get any worse news is at least some comfort for me."

If only I knew…or would at least stop pretending to myself.

* * *

In moments where a voice can rupture your equilibrium as much as a fist, I feel an inner pull that guides me to a place mentally that I can hear and am aware, but do not react. It's the balance that was learned by my bones as a child. A gift never wasted through years of dedication to martial arts, to Zordon and to God.

My state of mind is the only thing that keeps me standing.

I'm not standing now, but sitting in an uncomfortable chair in Doctor Heinrich's office. The room is spacious enough, with a wide set window looking out into trees and a light, creamy paint licking the walls that fail to boast impressive medical certifications or the typical medical posters you would expect. The chair is uncomfortable, as I said. His voice isn't monotone but the meaning of his words are.

He asks me how I've been feeling.

My mind turns for the remnants of my earlier talk with Adam. I think over my scenic drive from the coffee shop up north and then west through the Park District and I think of the approaching summer and my father's renovations to their house. If I have it in me to help him rip up some carpet or hammer in some nails then I think that's something I might do.

Doctor Heinrich acknowledges whatever previous response I gave and looks down at his handwritten notes, dictating this or that and whatever else.

My mind thinks of my mother and whilst I would automatically feel taut at a seeming equation without solution, I instead think of what I do know. The sad, yet somehow strident confidence she emanates when I allow her to feel that I still need her. That even though I pull back or reject her fussiness, there's still some place in me that longs for her to notice when I am tired and need her to do my laundry. My pride is perhaps something I've always dismissed because I always wanted to be higher than self-retainment, but I'm also not blind to some of the truths Adam pointed out to me this morning.

I can't fix my mother's fear but I can guide her emotional investment to a place that is probably healthier for us both. We're never going to agree but maybe she can't even see my point of view because the walls are already up whenever I hear her approach. I love her…maybe there's still time for me to like her.

Doctor Heinrich asks about my medication. How has it been going for me? Any side effects? This could take awhile…

From my mother, I think of my older brother and in a way, it's funny because when I think of the term brother I do tend to think of Tommy, even though it's been so many years…the genuine sadness that realization brings me in turn makes me think back on Jeremy. We lacked that bond throughout our lives, yet I know deep within me that had I called on him in a moment of need he would have always been there to back me up. Instead, throughout most of my life I assumed we lacked anything that could extend us from brothers to friends. I'll admit it; I've found it easy to be critical of his life because I'm sure I feel he could never understand the self-sacrifices I made in mine.

To me, he was typical and within me, I viewed myself as so much more than that. It always seemed that anything of greater importance came runner-up to Jeremy. I was the peacemaker and he was the peace-breaker. He was loud and boisterous, while I was more thoughtful and disciplined. When he flies off the handle, I can feel myself become defensive in a way I only ever do with my mother, and what does that say?

When the only emotion he can seem to locate is anger, maybe in the end he's only allowing himself to feel honestly about my situation, whilst I am too busy trying to reach for something else to stop me from losing my sight. Maybe apart, Jeremy and I don't work at all but if we somehow found a way to work together…maybe the compromise would mean that I'd get a little from him that I actually need.

Doctor Heinrich says something else. Something about physical activity or along those lines.

I skip thoughts of Cindy because…maybe it's a phase, one of those stages of grief, where suddenly she feels too gone for me to recall her in any tangible sense. I think in a lot of ways I tend and tended to feel as though I was both too prepared and not prepared at all for her death. It has scared me. To feel as though I can resent the fact that I lost my fight when she died and almost feel as though I'm grieving less for the fact that as a person, she's actually gone.

All this resentment in me seems to be the only thing I am capable of ever feeling fully. Not sadness at the fact that I'm going to die sooner than later, not sadness that I miss Cindy and not sadness that I'm making everyone else so damn miserable all the time.

I resent that everyone else is scared.

Doctor Heinrich keeps talking and asking questions and I'm answering but still immersed in that mental space where I feel safest. When I can't hide or avoid, this is the next best place for me to be.

My thoughts touch on Kimberly…even though as I find her strangely frustrating when I spend any decent time considering her ways and attempting to decipher her perplexing behavior. She seems so vague at times and yet at others, I find her almost childishly delightful. I can't help wondering how things would be if she knew I was sick…I suppose that would change everything.

And Tommy…I missed him. Isn't that funny, amongst so many feelings and irritations and avoidances, I have come to discover that I miss my old friend. That I wish we could spend more weekends fishing and watching the footy over beers. I'm not trying to run away from him, as is the case with so many others…and yet we haven't been as close, because by avoiding everyone in my life, I have in turn missed out on the good with the bad.

I can feel the truth in Adam's words to me in that one, painful recognition.

A phone rings. Doctor Heinrich picks up the corded phone on his desk and I blink, as though awoken from a distant dream. A few brief words and then he places it down, opening a file in front of him.

Don't tell me.

I already know…

"I'm sorry Jason…but the pathology that came back has identified a spread to the tissue-."

"I know," there's no defiance or acceptance, just a mere statement fast enough to stop the middle-aged specialist mid-speech.

I look down for a moment, trying to mentally return to my place of peace, however even that has abandoned me in this moment of forced acceptance.

Doctor Heinrich is dutifully unwearied, as he folds the file over in front of him and relocates it at a short distance away. "Jason, we don't have to discuss anything that you are not ready to discuss, however might I suggest you," he chooses his words carefully, "consider an appointment with one of our on-site counselors who can offer you another avenue to evaluate…"

I space out all together, pitifully indignant that at the same moment I have made such self-discovery of my life, that the inevitable has finally made its arrival to test if I really am strong enough to make a difference.

There's no way out of it, now…death is staring me in the face and I've just suddenly realized that I don't want to die alone.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 15 "Tommy's Change of Plans"**_

_Am I slipping over the treading now…disorientated in all this music and a soundtrack to the inevitable way that I am falling for Kimberly and can't stop myself? She doesn't fit in with my life but when I'm with her, not even I fit in with my life and when I'm without her all I can think about is the thrill of something so much more than what I thought was everything to me for so damn long._


	15. Tommy's Change of Plans

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 15 – Tommy's Change of Plans**

Whenever you tell a person you meet that you're a teacher, you frequently hear them respond down the inspirational route on how you must have a burning desire to help the youth of today and guide the world's budding future. Strangers repeatedly comment how much I must love my job and how much fulfillment it must provide me with.

I sigh. The end of my pen taps against the table.

Looking down at the crinkled, unkempt paperwork in front of me, it's all I can do just to make it through the final paragraph without going over to the window of my empty classroom and scream my hatred for anyone who can hear me.

The irony of this profession is as blistering as the pressures and commitments it demands well after the school bell rings. Whether it's planning the following day's teaching schedule, setting out a mini quiz or leafing through piles of careless homework, you can easily see that there's a difference between being a good teacher and a not-so-good one. Whilst I like to think that I am good at what I do and that I somehow inspire something into my pupils even occasionally, even I reach that point on a Friday afternoon where it feels like I could walk away from Reefside High School and never look back.

I lower my correction pen to the desk and strangle up the cuff of my shirt, glancing at my wristwatch. It's already approaching five o'clock. Dinner time is looming, but it's not my stomach that's driving my wondering mind and inability to focus. Like my students' restlessness in last period this afternoon, I am finding it borderline impossible to keep my mind on the job and I'm clearly less concerned about who notices.

Instead, all thoughts hoe in on Kimberly and my planned weekend romp back to Angel Grove for the weekend. It was a last minute arrangement and I guess that has contributed to the spike in my sudden disinterest at staying back to mark these assignments on…whatever they're on. Earlier in the week I planned to lull over them in front of the television over the weekend, but now that I actually have real plans I've been left with no option other than to suffer through these last few hours on whatever passion I have left in my occupation.

A tentative sounding knock stirs me during the final sentence on the page and I smile rigidly at the guilty party.

"I should have remembered that you don't exactly have much of a social life," Kira murmurs, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as she strolled into the classroom, sitting down on one of the empty desks.

I remove my glasses, somewhat less aware of Kira's usual ridicule of my life in good humor. "Well I'll have you know that if you're here to try and borrow my car for the weekend, you're out of luck."

She pulls her legs up onto the table, crossing them before her. "Why would I need your car this weekend? You know we've got the massive gig at BB-Ks…you do remember, right?"

I let out a 'shit' under my breath, dragging my elbows onto my desk as I suddenly recall Kira's invitation to me which I'm sure became lost under Chinese takeout leaflets and other junk mail stuck to my fridge weeks ago.

I finally center a stare on her noticing her eyebrows sitting high up on her forehead. "Dr. O…?"

"Yes," I admit reluctantly, squinting. "But I…forgot it was this weekend."

Kira appears unflustered by my admission and seemingly shrugs it off. "Don't stress about it Dr. O, just make sure you get there before seven and they'll be able to let you in around the side entrance," she reminds me, completely oblivious to my external anguish and rapidly developing guilt.

"Kira," I fail to say her name above a whisper the first time. "Kira, look…I completely forgot about your performance tomorrow night. It slipped my mind and I thought I had a free weekend, so I made plans to be elsewhere until Sunday."

"Oh," she lets out softly, her nose crinkling between her narrowing eyes. "What plans did you make?" she noses.

I purse my mouth, returning my glasses to my face. "I'm heading out of town to…Angel Grove."

Kira's body slumps forward a little, the side of her head tipping into her hand as though in defeat. "Well…I guess if you've got plans then there's nothing much you can do about that," she allows, her voice deliberately stony as her fingers play absentmindedly with her shoelaces.

I sigh and grudgingly stand up from my desk, resting my behind on the edge of my desk. I stare patiently at her as the seconds hand strays by on the classroom wall, sighing even louder as a minute passes and she continues to mope.

"Kira…you know I wouldn't miss your gig on purpose."

"Yeah," a little attitude. "I know."

I roll my neck a little, failing to dispel the permanent tension. "You're going to be great tomorrow."

She nods, finally unfolding her legs and jumping down from the desk. Her hands bury into the pockets of her jeans and she shrugs her shoulders. "Have fun in Angel Grove. Maybe I'll see you before my next gig."

I extended my arm into her direction like a gate, causing her to stop as she starts to walk away. "Kira, you know I barely have a life to speak of. I know I've let you down but I really think you trying to guilt me into feeling like crap isn't exactly the way to handle things."

Her head turns to look at me and I can see her eyes finally concede. "I meant what I said, Dr. O…have fun with Kimberly this weekend."

Our eyes remain locked in their momentary surrender, before I finally lower my arm and offer her a feeble goodbye.

* * *

I glance down at my watch.

Coming to a gradual decrease in momentum as I approach apartment nine, I find myself somehow confronted with yet another moment of slaking curiosity at the hands of the woman I can't decide a title to. With the front door slightly ajar, morning light streams between the crack in messy rays which pattern my jeans and shirt as I stand before it, head slightly tilted in utter bewilderment.

I consider peeking through the opening but decide against it. It's only Saturday morning but who knows what might confront me on such a gamble? Kimberly's full of surprises and the last thing I want to do is catch her dancing around her living room naked or…God knows what else.

Frowning a little to myself, I lift my hand and knock softly on the door frame, waiting for the sound of boisterous activity to cease at my interruption. Instead, it continues and so I find myself reluctantly tapping the door open, knocking even louder as it awkwardly swings open to reveal the scene before me.

Kimberly lets out a hoot and I instantly rush over toward her, jumping back as she unexpectedly leaps off the dining chair and collides into me. We both stumble ungracefully into the back of her plush couch, hands and limbs flailing all over the place before she quickly regains her stance and I slowly revert to standing.

We let out a laugh in unison. Slightly awkward and yet mostly of relief and she pokes her hip out to the side as her hand pushes from the opposite side.

"I completely lost track of the time," she lets out, her breathing more noticeable than normal.

I try to subdue my look of bewilderment although I'm not sure how successful I am. "It's only nine-thirty…" I narrow my eyes a little on her. "I thought the plan was for me to be here in time for a late breakfast."

"Well I'm not used to you being on time!" she laughs, slapping me a little on my lower arm. "Ha-ha well the thing is, I woke up early and had the urge to clean up a little and yeah…here we are."

"Here we are indeed," I murmur lightly, glancing around her living room. Everything from books, to knick knacks to clothes line the bare edges of the walls to the left, creating numerous towers of chaos that look close to toppling over at any given moment.

She brushes over her face with the edge of her arm. "I have not even showered yet, I am so sorry."

I smile a little. "Hey, don't worry about," I reassure her. "Maybe once we're done here, we can head back to my place and you can work some of your magic there."

She giggles a little, before leading me through the maze of discarded belongings out to her kitchen. Her hair, which is much longer these days than when we were younger, barrels messily down half of her back, matting at the ends against a tiny sweat patch on the back of her top.

"Looks like you've really been sweating it out," I mention to her, as I settle down on a stool behind her breakfast bar.

She nods in agreed exaggeration, blowing out a burst of air from between her lips. "I've been wanting to do this for awhile," she explains, her hands resting on two cups before her. "I don't know why I didn't do it sooner…"

"What? Create chaos in your apartment?" I joke.

She scrunches her nose up at me in good humor, before she starts to make us both a cup of coffee. "You seem to be in an especially comedic mood this morning, Mr. Oliver. To what do we owe this to?"

I tighten my lips into a small smile, shaking my head. "Let's just say I'm not used to so much entertainment on my Saturday mornings. And the company isn't too bad."

She flexes her arms on the counter, studying me with a delighted little smile. "You're not too bad yourself and-." She draws it out in a long breath as she pours the hot water. "You'll come in handy when I have to lug all this junk down to my car so we can take it to charity."

"I should have known there was some devious alternate plan for inviting me all this way," I surmise lightly, offering her a thanks as she stops a drink before me and sits down on the chair beside me.

Her thigh brushes mine but she doesn't seem to notice. She lets out a sigh to signify a moment of release.

"I like your hair longer," I comment, so out of place, so randomly, that I quickly feel self conscious.

"Oh yeah?"

I nod honestly. "It suits you."

She looks back at the mug cocooned in between the palms of her hands and smiles contently. "Luke…preferred it a bit shorter," she tells me softly. "I don't know…I guess I never really thought about it." She looks at me, reaching up to run her hands over my hair quickly. "I think you would look good whether you had short hair, long hair or wore a paper bag over your head."

I laugh almost bashfully, squatting her hand lightly away from me.

"I mean it," she reaffirms, taking a long sip of her drink, her eyes as tantalizing as the lightly roasted aroma. "And I like you in black, but not too much. You'll be so pleased to know that asides from two sweaters and two tops, I don't have any pink clothes left in my wardrobe."

Her comment makes me laugh a little. "I always liked you in pink," I shrug truthfully.

She murmurs. "Hmm," her shoulders drop. "Well, I might even wear some for you depending on where you decide you'd like to go tonight for dinner," she decides.

I let out a quick noise, my lips closing instantly into an almost scowl. "Shit, I forgot to tell you…I…sort of decided to head back to Reefside tonight," I wince a little. "If that's okay."

Her face remains still, and yet despite what is probably extreme effort on her behalf, her eyes still manage to twinkle. Her stony jaw can't last long. I sigh a little shamefully and she relaxes her faux stand instantly, reaching for my shoulder.

"I wasn't planning on cooking you know," she teases and I let out a slight laugh.

"See the thing is, Kira, she's singing in this live show tomorrow and it's her biggest show so far and she invited me weeks ago but to be honest I…" I study Kimberly's face. "I forgot…and I'm not trying to stand you up because I know we made plans but the reason I forgot was-."

"Tommy, Tommy," she cuts me off, flashing me a quick grin before rolling her eyes. "Please, I completely understand."

"I want you to know that the reason I forgot about Kira's gig is because these past few weeks I've been so busy thinking of you…"

The corner of Kimberly's mouth slowly rides up and her hand gently moves to rest on mine on top of the laminate bench before us. Her fingers brush over the grooves of my own.

"Well, I can't pretend I'm not a little disappointed," she starts softly, both our sets of eyes watching as our hands continue their trance. "But I have to say that the fact that you want to be there so much for Kira probably says more to me about who you are as a person than if you didn't consider her at all. She's your team mate and I understand better than most how much that dictates your heart even with small things like this."

I want to kiss her just a little but something inside of me directs me back to our hands and I feel content in their innocent sanctuary.

"Have you seen Jason at all?" I wonder out of nowhere.

"No," she shakes her head slightly. "I did speak to him on the phone earlier in the week but to tell you the truth…he didn't really say much."

Our hands separate a little and I feel a heavy frown crease at my brow. "Don't you find that odd? How standoffish he seems?" I ask her, honestly wanting to know if I'm the only one that feels this way.

She finally takes another sip of her coffee, her eyes falling directionless. She lets out a lengthily hum. "I know you've felt he's been distant from us since we met up with him again and at first, I thought maybe you were overreacting a bit but I have noticed that he's really acting strange sometimes. Almost like he's hiding something from us, but I really can't think what it would be."

I ponder her words and think of Adam. "It is really strange," I murmur. "I can't work it out. One minute he seems like good ol' Jason and the next, he's acting really bizarre. I must have asked him several times what he's been up to and he never really gives me an answer."

"I found him to be the same with me," Kimberly agrees. "Maybe he just likes his space these days? I've asked him a few times to come out with us or to come to dinner and he's declined so all I can put it down to is that. That, or it's something to do with his parents. I noticed he seemed uncomfortable around them at his birthday lunch."

We both settle into a thoughtful silence. I feel myself slowly blinking excessively and ease my hand back toward hers, exchanging a reassuring smile.

"You should come to Reefside next weekend," I tell her, my words coming out slowly, almost trancelike.

Her eyebrows jump a little. "Is that a proper invitation or are you just trying to make up for this weekend?"

"A little bit of both," I smile truthfully. "Now that you have weekends off, you should take the opportunity to get out of here a bit. I can show you around."

"I would love to," she accepts genuinely, gathering her mug in between her hands in obvious satisfaction. "On one condition…"

I feign a groan.

"That you help me take all my stuff away today before you go back home…"

She doesn't even need to try.

"Deal," I clink my empty mug against hers, a secret grin reaching my lips as I notice the bag of fresh bagels on the sink.

* * *

Avoiding the automatic response to react, I hold myself still as a heavy weight barrels past me to my left, almost taking me off my feet. I sigh, cursing several times silently, before I glance down at my watch for the one hundredth time today. The light outside is non-existent, bar an amber bulb dimly hanging further ahead and I strain to see anything.

I scratch my head. It's well after seven and whose fault is that? Unfortunately no one but mine. Or maybe Kimberly's. If we're being specific.

Still, I did everything I could asides from teleport to make sure I got back in time for Kira's gig and here I am, waiting in between crimson ropes with a barrage of teenagers lining up to pile into BB-Ks, an all-ages venue and apparently the place to be. I actually saw a few of my students from last year and they gave me several looks ranging from _'How creepy, why is our teacher hanging out here?'_ to _'Shit, that's Dr. Oliver, I hope he doesn't tell my dad I'm here and breaking curfew.' _I settled for ignorance in both cases, glancing around desperately to ensure I wasn't the only person here over twenty-five.

You would think I would be used to being surrounded by teenagers, but here's a shock, that's just another niggle about me. In my classroom, I'm used to them looking as though they're catching up on their sleep from the night before and occasionally, I actually summon their respect and attention. Here, I'm just an old guy who's showed up alone and I have no voice, no fancy white coat and no special title.

Damn, I should have thought to invite Kimberly.

By the time I pass through the entrance, it's almost nine and I've been hearing music trail outside for well over half an hour. It's not as dark inside as I had expected it to be, and whilst there's a heavy crowd, it's not nearly as rowdy as what I stood amongst outside. Some people are cheering, most are huddled in groups and talking amongst themselves, throwing their hands in the air during certain moments of the song.

I don't recognize the voice and I feel somewhat relieved that maybe this means I haven't missed Kira. I'm sure that I recognize many, many of these faces but only really keep an eye out for Connor, Ethan or Hailey. This possibly sounds pathetic to you, but it's just a force of habit. While most people know me as a teacher, they are probably the only ones who actually know me.

Cutting through the clumpy crowd in scissor like fashion, I find the edge of a wall and an empty seat. I feel weary and somewhat impatient. I keep a listen out for Kira's voice whenever the loud music pales to a torrent of mindless chatter, and when I finally hear her, I move to stand. I can barely see her through a cut-out tunnel which is mangled between too many heads and bodies. Up on stage, she is washed out by a hazy light from above but her voice travels effortlessly throughout the crowd and even I can't avoid these feelings of pride.

I've noticed Kira often sings about love and romance…I think for a period of time, I never really considered her music seriously and if I did, I feel I was privately dismissive. After all, she's a kid and how could she possibly know anything about what it feels like to need a person so much that you don't remember how you existed without them? Still, that's probably the essence of youth and I know as much as anyone that when you're sixteen you feel everything so immensely. And is that really such a bad thing?

This is the music Kimberly used to love when she was sixteen. Kimberly Hart…where to even start with this woman who I thought I'd happily left in the past? Have I merely been in denial all these years or is this simply a case of let them free and they'll come back? I'm trying not to rush into this deluge and I'm sinking beneath too many ulterior forces at work.

Am I slipping over the treading now…disorientated in all this music and a soundtrack to the inevitable way that I am falling for Kimberly and can't stop myself? She doesn't fit in with my life but when I'm with her, not even I fit in with my life and when I'm without her all I can think about is the thrill of something so much more than what I thought was everything.

I was contented, but I certainly wasn't lying when I looked her in the eyes at Arnold's lookout and said that I wanted more than that. I want more than just my secrets and it frightens the living shit out of me that I could walk away from this life one day with nothing left to show for myself except a swelling Pandora 's Box. Armor is a subjective state. By allowing nothing out I've deflected anything from outside even getting a look inside and hell yeah, I feel safe. I feel secure. But who gives a damn about any of that when you don't even have a single person to share that with or even protect?

I barely blink as several people push past me and I've become entranced in melody and indulgent thoughts. Kimberly's magic is in her unexplainable ability to excite my rigid exterior whilst somehow coming across as undeniably intelligent, shockingly vulnerable and immensely similar to myself. I see remnants of that girl I cherished once before, yet somehow driven to want to…protect her in a way I've never experienced. She's lost and so am I and yet somehow finding her again is possibly leading me to find myself.

Watching her laugh today, all cheekbones and big brown eyes, I felt too many things I can't begin to explain to you now. She was always so beautiful to the eye, but without the make-up, she was nothing short of real and I laughed with her. She's trailing heavy imprints now. We share interests, vulnerabilities, secrets, and no, we're not perfect and we both know that. She's hesitant and I need that. I'm willing and she nurtures that.

I'm falling for her…I know I shouldn't be. I should know better and I do. Certain security in exchange for the unknown. In barter for an expelled salvation. In trade for that irrational, teenage sentiment Kira's been crooning about all night…

Given the two options, what would you choose?

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 16 "Kimberly's Runner-up"**_

"I suppose I don't even need to ask you," he says just as lightheartedly and I smile the tightest of smiles, my nails pushing into the surface of the bench as I consider my options at this point.


	16. Kimberly's RunnerUp

**Afterglow**

Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 16 - Kimberly's Runner-up**

I'm neither distracted nor uninspired by the seedy overcast skies that blanket the view ahead on this early Saturday morning. I can't say that I'm by any stretch of the imagination comforted by their presence; but at least their appearance lacks any threat that might cause a disruption to the feelings budding inside of me on hopes for the day ahead.

My eyes have cast left and right often on the long, endless road between Angel Grove and Reefside, and even the random car that passes on my opposite side seems to have lulled by in slow motion. Perhaps this is the quiet before the all quenching storm. My anticipation of finally taking a larger step in this journey with Tommy isn't registering anywhere near fast enough. Soon enough I'll be in his home and it will no longer be him just visiting me but me giving up my comfort zone to really find out how strong we are together.

This is a bigger step than I thought I'd be ready to take only a few short months since Luke handed me back my box of old CDs and knitted sweater. Is all this moving too soon? Maybe in normal circumstances, yes; but this isn't exactly a standard relationship and I know we both are well aware of this. It feels like starting in the deep end of the pool, edging toward the shallow water with a sense that it should be so easy, whilst feeling so heavy with caution. Like it's far too simple a task.

I spent much of the past week either at work or at Carmel's. It felt like my typical mid-week quiescent itinerary, only I found between listening to Carmel harp on through reruns of 'Grey's Anatomy' and my usual mind wondering, it paced quickly, darting through to today without so much as a warning. I packed my overnight bag late last night. I tried not to over think it.

I realized about thirty miles ago that it's been a very long time since I've ventured outside of Angel Grove and in a small way that's slightly alarming to me, if not a very late wakeup call. Very occasionally, Luke and I would fly to visit his family east in Albany, but I realize now that those days were not weeks or months ago, but years. We had always been too busy for each other. When it's been so long since…everything…it's not hard to become overeager by even the insignificant things.

What I know about Tommy these days is that he owns his own home and substituted potential financial gains and exotic locations for a sub-suburban lifestyle as a high school teacher. While he is blindingly modest whenever we speak, I find his achievements somehow more fulfilling than my own. Perhaps it's the achievement of everything by his own hand or the secret thrill of a life dictated by honor, friendship and purpose. Everything that I seemed to have left behind a decade ago.

These thoughts are becoming too deep and I attempt a quick cleanse them as I wind down my window and inhale a short burst of slightly salty air. The thickening of foliage guiding my way along the slowly busying road is assuring me that I've found myself to my weekend destination and I know it's now or never. It's becoming a little amusing how every meeting with Tommy Oliver is feeling like a first impression, but none the less the buzz is indescribable. My curiosity is slightly roaring.

Quick check in the rearview mirror. Not for cars, but for a last minute inspection of my hair. I forwent my normal lipstick, foundation and mascara in exchange for a more natural look and I feel good. My loose, knee length dress crinkles deliberately around my curves, its fresh scent diminishing the moth balls that had saturated it for too many months. I only wore a little perfume. Jesus, this is getting vain. I feel fifteen again.

And there he is; waiting for me at the front of his house, arms folded casually as my car rattles up his driveway. I offer a little wave as I slow down to park and he's already heading over for me as I open my door up into his world.

"You made it," he greets warmly.

We embrace, one of his arms finding my back and the other resting tenderly on my upper arm before we kiss…edge of lips and a linger longer than normal.

"How was your drive?" he asks, grabbing my overnight bag from the back and leading me up to his porch.

I wonder beside him, eyes cast over the brutal beauty of serenity. "It's so beautiful here," I comment, before realizing I didn't answer his question.

He notices but smiles it off, opening the door for me. "I did a quick…tidy up this morning inside, I uh…I set the bed up in the spare room, it's only a single but I'm pretty sure you'll fit."

I giggle slightly, nodding in amusement. "As long as we don't try it together, I'm sure it'll be perfect."

He lowers my bag on his couch, straightening up before me. For this moment, he captures my attention beyond the home he calls his own.

"So um…" I take a step toward him, subduing a smile with a downward glance. "What did you have planned for this weekend, Mr. Oliver?" I finish, my eyes finding his as I stop before him.

"Well…I was thinking that maybe we could take a drive around town, I could show you the place and maybe we could grab some lunch at the beach…and tonight, I wanted to cook for you…hopefully without making an ass of myself."

"Oh ha-ha," I poke my tongue out a little brushing his hand away as he attempts to baby me.

It's a moment that could very easily lead to another moment; yet instead, as I gaze into his coffee glance I find myself hesitating, somehow tangled in a place where I can't quite grasp if I am doing the right thing. Not by kissing this beautiful man, but the previous ways in which Tommy stilled my flaking heart have somehow become eradicated by my own self-doubt and somehow…the linger of immature guilt that has reared its ugly head from nowhere.

"Hey," he senses me well, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Relax...you're here to have a weekend away."

"I know…" I smile closed lip, feeling almost sheepish as my eyes locate a framed photo on his wall of he and Jason.

"Let's just take each hour as it comes," he suggests. "No pressure."

* * *

Ten hours later and I'm in a far, far different place mentally than where I'd been this morning when I'd first arrived at Reefside. Blame too much autumn sun, rich foods or one glass of wine, but I'm feeling relaxed and indulging heavily in the smell of smoldering meat on the stove and the television in the background. My fingers wonder over Tommy's kitchen bench, fiddling with pens and other random knick knacks, before I find myself back at my glass of wine.

I swallow the smooth liquid in my mouth, studying him long enough that he twists around to look my way. "This is nice," I tell him honestly and he turns around, reaching for a tea towel.

"Nice?" he asks me to elaborate.

I raise my shoulders a little, lowering them as I nod. "Yes; nice. It's nice being here, Tommy. It's nice spending time with you and getting to know you as you are now."

His eyebrows rise animatedly before he slips me a smile that tells me he's starting to feel more comfortable than being aware of how much so.

I lick my lips. "So, can I help you with anything? Maybe stir something or, I don't know…stir something?"

He laughs and I let out a little hoot and cackle.

"How about we leave the stirring up to the experts?" he suggests wryly, as he walks over and returns his attention to some vegetables on a chopping board nearby.

I purse my lips a little. "Fair enough," I concede. I glance around, drinking in the wood and the furnishings, unbeknownst to his lingering gaze that remains trickled my way.

I catch him briefly as I tuck my elbows on the counter and catch my chin on the back of my fingers. "It's weird being here, you know, it's like…I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would ever be sitting in your house, watching you cook dinner for me with my overnight bag sitting on your couch." I pause, thinking further. "In so many ways, it feels so scary and yet I feel so much relief because I feel like I already know so much about you."

His hand skillfully works at some carrots. "I never really had the…motivation to cook like this. To actually go to the effort to buy fresh food and find a recipe and buy a bottle of wine. Every time I've dated in the past, it felt like such a distant thing. I never felt like I could get to the point where I trusted them enough to bring them to my house." His hand rests, his eyes focused on a distant point. "I know it's probably hard to understand, but a part of me feels hesitant to get too close to people because of all the secrets that I keep."

He quickly tips the chopping board up on the side, briskly pushing the contents into a bowl nearby and I do not speak right away. Tommy's words ring a truth I should have well known, but haven't really thought about nor considered. For myself, I was fortunate that the spotlight on my life was shifted so publically on fame and glory that my existence as a ranger was never one I felt I had to hide. Instead, it was almost like a forgotten moment of high school, not because it was something that I could so easily let go of, but because the rest of the world was never interested in who I was but only in what I could be.

But for Tommy, I'm only now truly realizing that he bares the weight of so many secrets that possibly even I do not have the liberty of knowing. All the years of dedication to a secret life not only sacrificed him the normality of a late childhood, but spread through to every choice and relationship he made in his life years on.

I think of the others; of Zordon. It's not hard to see that Tommy's sacrifice to us all is all too real.

"Don't go all quiet on me," he murmurs from the stove, offering me a comforting smile. "I wasn't trying to throw you off."

"You didn't," I assure him, deciding to be honest. "I was thinking about the sacrifices you've made in your life and how you've found it hard to become close to people because of your dedication to being a ranger. I guess it's not something I ever thought about until meeting you again. My life felt so ripped away from it all at the time that I never had the chance to really reflect on it. My accomplishments, in the eyes of everyone else, were through gymnastics and looking good." I take a quick sip of my drink. "It's sort of…a shock to realize that no one ever had the chance to love me by knowing who I really was."

He rests his lower back against the kitchen bench facing me, picking his glass up in his hand.

"Not even Luke," I finish with a sort of sigh.

"In fairness, we've never really given an outsider the chance to know the truth," he points out. "Maybe if we did, it wouldn't change anything?"

"Maybe not, but I know it's a reason why I find myself so drawn to you after all these years…"

He walks over, the bench remaining between us, scaling his lithe body down to my level. "I think it's natural to want to be where you feel comfortable," his voice is much quieter now, not particularly husky, but intimate. "A lot of time has passed and neither you nor I are who we were back then, but I think who we were is a reason we are what we are now. I wasn't lying that night when I told you you know more about me than most people. After we…fell apart back then, it scared me to think I'd be in a world where I didn't have that person next to me who knew me better than I knew myself."

My head has dropped slightly to the side, my lips a gentle part as I focus on our alternate takes of breath.

"I know that I…said I'm-."

"Don't," he places his finger to my lips, holding it there as he says: "There's nothing for you to be sorry about Kim."

I feel the moist center of my lips push into his finger, before he gently removes it and returns to leaning on the bench before me.

"What matters now, is that we're here and we're here together," he shares and we clink our glasses together softly, my smile melting to match his.

I shuffle on my seat, rolling my shoulders over. "You never told me what happened to you and Katherine," I say from out of nowhere. "Gosh, I'll never forget the first time I saw her. She was so amazingly beautiful."

He lets out a slight laugh, returning to check his meal on the stove. "Kat and I had a good thing, but our lives sadly moved apart, much like mine and yours did. I think it's really hard to stay committed to someone so young, without one party compromising in a massive way."

I think for a moment to Luke and I, knowing these words are very true.

"Although I guess I didn't really think about the fact that you were with Luke for so long," he continues openly, as though reading my thoughts. "There's not many of us out there who can say they nearly stayed with the one person their whole lives."

I smile a bit despite myself, swirling the remaining wine in my glass. My mind wanders back to those early years before I find myself quickly unjustified in such a thought.

I surprise even myself when I put my glass down louder than I intend to. I tuck some hair behind my ear, licking my lip and chewing it succinctly as I watch the muscles in his back move beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"So I guess then…Katherine was your first?"

His head turns and he glances at me over his shoulder, a playful eyebrow already up. "Indeed she was," he nods lightheartedly. "Much to the ignorance of her parents," he adds and I laugh gently.

"I suppose I don't even need to ask you," he says just as lightheartedly and I smile the tightest of smiles, my nails pushing into the surface of the bench as I consider my options at this point.

"Um well," I start, my tongue circling the dry reaches of my mouth. "Actually…um, Luke…" I push my glass away a little, straightening my back. "Luke wasn't my first."

Tommy turns away from the fridge, his face contorting into an almost curious confusion.

"It's a long story, but um it wasn't Luke, it was Jason."

* * *

Blankness washes over his face, as the trailing of Jason's name echoes through the openness of Tommy's kitchen. My insides dry up as he just stares at me, drawing everything from me, forcing me to lick my lips as I stare right back.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask, as he turns away for a moment, closing the fridge door behind him.

His back remains turned, his head visibly lowered.

My insides fall, as I squirm on my stool, proceeding to stand up, but a sound- Tommy scoffing harshly- cements me in my place. I hear him mumble inaudibly, and it's becoming so horrifyingly clear that I never should have opened my mouth.

I feel the stitching come undone from every single direction.

I swallow. Hard. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything…I-."

"No, you shouldn't have," he cuts me off, turning around but refusing to meet my gaze. "I really did not need to know you and Jason screwed me over at a time when I thought you were both my friends," he states lowly, shaking his head.

He follows his biting remark with a begrudged laugh and I am paralyzed by his sting.

I try to get him to look at me. "Tommy, I didn't tell you because I wanted to hurt you, I'm telling you because I want to be honest with you…I want this to work for us, I really think it can…"

He shakes his head, driving his stare into the kitchen bench. "At least I know now why he's never been the same with me since then…I thought it was all in my head, but I guess even Jason couldn't look straight knowing that he slept with my girlfriend."

"Tommy, we weren't even together then-."

"No!" Tommy snaps, for the first time raising his voice. "We weren't together then because you were across the country finding someone else to be with- does Luke know you were sleeping with Jason-."

"It wasn't like that, Tommy!" I finally pry myself from my seat, clenching the edge of the bench that remains between us. "Luke knew everything about me…about Jason, about you-."

"Yeah," Tommy scoffs quietly. "He really was a great guy…just like Jason was such a great guy, too."

That ticklish feeling is riding up my throat, and I can't tell whether I'm on the verge of bawling because I'm really, really upset, or really, really pissed off.

"I wasn't with Luke at the time," I speak up quietly, staring at the bench myself. "The pressure of training, thinking about Worlds and the Olympics drove us to make the decision to break up…It broke my heart, but I was petrified at the thought of doing a long-distance relationship again," I pause, biting my lip. "I didn't want to hurt again, not like how you and I did."

He doesn't look at me, doesn't regurgitate another hurtful comment. His silence is almost as difficult to deal with, because I have no idea whether he's still angry, or hurt, or willing to talk with me…

"I'm sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean to hurt you…it was so long ago and we were all so confused…Jason was getting over Emily, I was getting over Luke…Jason and I both needed someone to fall back onto and I found myself falling for him. And I pursued him…Jason, he hesitated, he didn't want to get involved with me like that, but I-."

"Oh, please Kimberly- you even standing there and talking like Jason is a saint is load of shit-."

"I'm not saying he's a saint, Tommy!" I argue, frowning heavily. "But for God's sake, this all happened ten years ago and it was something we never planned!"

"So you're telling me he didn't want you back way before Florida and the peace conference? That with me and Luke out of the picture, he didn't see it as an opportunity to have what he wanted for so long? You might put him on a pedestal, but he's no different to me."

"Jesus, Tommy, we were kids back then, none of this means anything anymore!" I counter forcefully, my sentence climbing high in pitch.

Tommy steps away, grabbing his head, before turning around to face me again. I can no longer stand to look at him, though, and instead frown heavily, fighting off the lingering urge to shed tears.

He half-sighs, half-scoffs and his bitterness grabs my gaze his way.

"Tell me why we even do this, Tommy…" I whisper sadly.

"You tell me…don't stand there for a minute and act like I'm the one who decides what happens between us. I was tired of that bullshit ten years ago, and I'm way over it now."

I can feel the anger in my eyes literally flinch, but I feel so equally hurt. I release a sharp breath. "You'll never be happy, will you? No matter how many times I tell you, you still can't look at me and believe me when I tell you That was real-."

"What?" he bursts out, his hand angrily swiping the papers off the bench in an irate, thoughtless motion. "The fact that I'm always your runner-up? Let me tell you now, if I knew back then what I know now, I never would have pursued you again Kimberly…then none of this would be happening now and you would be nothing more than a girl I used to know."

"Fine…I'm not going to stand here and hurt you anymore," I state quietly, as I bend over and swipe my purse from the ground.

"Leave and it's done. I'm tired of doing this, and if you think it's gonna be better or easier next time, it isn't…" He continues to talk, as I fumble in my bag for my keys, desperate for a distraction from his madness. "But what the hell? We're nearly thirty now, so why in the hell should we bother worrying about shit that happened a decade earlier? Go enjoy your life with Jason, and relish the fact that you got everything you wanted in the end-."

I don't know what has come over me as I find myself stepping suddenly toward him, my rigid hand extended, before I just as quickly withdraw it in time for the tears that began to quiver in my eyes.

"Goodbye, Tommy," I don't look at him. "Whatever you've been searching for your whole life, I hope you find it."

I grab my overnight bag on my way out and fail to slam the door as I exit, leaving him only in the thickness of silence with the mess of his life strewn across the room.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 17 "Jason's Guilt"**_

But my guilt is more unbearable, and something that isn't just between my mind, my memories and the image of a dead friend. I realize I've suddenly done what I swore I wouldn't do.

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story and thank you even more for those who take the time to review :) This story continues to be a challenge for me, but hopefully I'll grow a bit from it as a writer! I hope you will continue to enjoy it :) CS_


	17. Jason's Guilt

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 17 - Jason's Guilt**

What does a man do when he's been given his final notice and enough fear to propel him to so much desperation that he makes every deal imaginable with God and whoever else is listening?

He pays for a room at a three-star motel and sits desolate in front of the television doing absolutely nothing. The realization of this sickened me for a matter of days ago; now, the acceptance of my inability to dislodge the pause button has eased the swelling enough that I'm no longer sitting here thinking nasty thoughts about myself.

My mental place of tranquility has been apparently off-limits.

I couldn't go back to my parents' after my appointment with Doctor Heinrich. Don't ask me what exactly I did do, but all I can vaguely remember is making up a number of excuses to anybody and everyone and _voila_, here I am. It's Saturday night but don't quote me on that. The rain started at some stage and the television was long turned off, camouflaged by the murky shadows that threaten from every angle around me. A hazy light hums from one of the nightstands nearby.

I like rain. Most people groan with an almost blindness whenever the weather station announces a rainy day. But tonight it reminds me that I'm still here and that everything is fine. The world still works and I'm not broken yet. Not completely, anyway.

My eyes shift without any movement of my head as a knock sounds at the door. I never would have thought I could hear it over the dire weather, but it's a very unique calling to me. Kimberly used to knock in the same manner on my bedroom window in our freshman year. It has a tune about it.

A quick check to make sure I'm at least presentable and I open the door, almost inhaling as the wind brings the rain to me. The cool burst burrows into my nose, ears and mouth and it tingles through my veins like a flood of electricity, causing me to shiver instantly as I study my visitor for a mere moment.

Why is Kimberly standing in the rain?

Her eyes open wide and I gesture her in without saying a word. She seems momentarily too immersed in her messy hair that clings to the nape of her neck. Her fingers move to flick it away, but the dark strands refuse to unstick. In the disorientating haze of light from nearby, I watch her dress cling around her thighs and curves, tiny droplets emanating little candles on the backs of her arms.

She pauses, as I sit back down in my chair. Her eyes blink away in between runaway strands of hair.

"You okay?"

I let out a light laugh that moves quickly into a tight smile of some sort. "How about I ask you that first? You do know that cars are the best mode of transport in the rain, despite the police statistics," I mention dryly.

A fleeting smile, but still, she seems distracted. "I thought you might like some company," she offers, but her eyes give her away.

Something has happened and she needs someone to talk to. It's not hard to stretch my imagination; she'd carried that look around with her during our years as rangers, and that same flame had been re-ignited the moment I watched her reunion with Tommy unfold before my very eyes.

Am I being a bad person if I admit that I don't want to know about it?

I look at her, doing my best to conceal such thoughts, and as I do, I quickly realize she's shivering like a child.

"Kim, here- put this on," I pull my sweater over my head and pass it to her, watching with almost amusement as she pulls it on and it balloons around her.

She giggles a little, the private joke not lost between us. It's enough to break the ice.

"Do you have any wine?" she asks, glancing around as though we're at a bar and not in my extremely unembellished rental room.

My head feels far away and yet at this moment, I feel exhaled and the lack of pressure makes it easy for me to find my feet.

She plops herself down on the carpeted floor and I side step her. "Red or white?" I ask, as I head to the small fridge, removing two bottles that feel painfully icy.

"White for now…but keep the red as a back-up, I'm sure I'll need it."

I pour the contrastingly acerbic and sweet smelling liquor into two plastic cups, almost embarrassed at my lack of belongings, but Kimberly is Kimberly; she doesn't care, or at least doesn't say so when I pass hers to her and sit on the floor opposite her.

She rests her head on the bed behind her. The shadows frame the beauty of her face as it lowers hopelessly. I take a sip from my cup, its tang blistering my mouth momentarily, as I wait patiently for her to speak. Her wide eyes travel around and the reflection is like darting fireflies caught in their obscure centers.

"What are you doing staying in this place again, anyway?" she wonders, her eyes still in a state of disquiet. "I went to your parent's house but your dad told me you were here."

The floor feels as hard as concrete. "I needed to…get away," my voice comes out a little croaky, as I try to capture her vision. "So tell me…what are you trying to escape from?"

She murmurs a "Huh?" before she shakes the cobwebs away. "Tommy and I had a fight…he was really mad; pissed off. I walked out on him. I really just don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what exactly?"

"Fight. Hate someone I don't want to hate." She looks directly at me, taking a sip from her cup. "I did that enough with Luke and I don't want to go through that ever again…Tommy said…all these terrible things to me that he really didn't need to say."

For the sake of releasing her emotional anguish I would have let her keep talking, but she pauses much sooner than I expect, as though waiting me to fuel the fire. I swallow discreetly enough, trying not to appear so detached.

"What was he so pissed about?" I ask her gently, as I notice the unmistakable manner in which her eyes are paining with every single blink.

She doesn't reply immediately and I straighten up a little, hoping my movement will somehow rouse her. Expressions flourish dizzyingly across her face until it finally settles. Her lips are puckered now; her cheeks hollow and gaunt as though she's sucked on something terribly sour. "Do you think I'm selfish, Jason?"

I'm a little thrown and she straightens up before I get a chance to respond. "You think I'm selfish too, don't you?" she accuses in an almost whisper, as though I've revealed to her some horrible secret.

I shake my head. "Selfish-no. Unthoughtful without meaning to be-yes, very occasionally…but still, I don't see how that would make Tommy fly off the handle."

"I told Tommy the truth about everything…about my years with Luke. We drove around Reefside and he took me out for lunch and we had this really good talk about things. Tonight, he was cooking me dinner and I guess we still had so much to talk about. He told me a bit about Katherine…I hadn't really thought about them at all, to be honest."

I'm actually feeling a little perturbed now about where this is going. Kimberly's surprise visit in the rain was surreal enough, but now that we're both sitting here getting drunk on expensive wine in plastic cups, could the alcohol be curdling my mind so fast? Kimberly's tossing this all into some time warp and if she's seriously about to start whining to be about her teenage successor, I'm probably going to end up saying something that isn't going to please her.

I sigh. "Why do you two talk about that stuff now- it's completely in the past."

"Because it's fairly obvious that without the past, we struggle to find out place now," Kimberly points out defensively. "Honest to God, a part of me was a little jealous, yes, but that wasn't what I thinking- I was actually glad that he had found someone to move on with. But I wanted to be honest with him…I know that if we really wanted to give us another chance, I had to be honest to him."

_Oh God…_The wine in my mouth is sitting bitter now as I suddenly realize where this is heading. Like an inevitable car crash, I'm the sorry bystander watching helplessly as the collision detonates right before my very eyes.

"You didn't…tell him about you and I, did you?" I ask, staring at her almost coldly.

The regret is all there. "I didn't think it would matter…I-."

I squirm, throwing my head back a little. "That really wasn't a good idea..."

"I wanted him to know. He told me about how Katherine was his first- he assumed that Luke was mine, and I didn't want him to think that. Tommy was really open with me about everything and I wanted him to know from me that what happened…yes, we didn't plan it, but…I've never given myself to anyone who wasn't special in my heart."

I'm trying to maintain my steady head, but a surge of panic has ran away with almost all of my composure. Her heart was and is in completely the right place, but I am still at a loss as to why she's chosen to locate it there right now. I'm scrambling in my head. If I were Tommy, I'd be rightly pissed too, and Heaven knows her confession will completely dilute my friendship with him in return. I'm not going to lie to you- I've thought much about that time with Kimberly over the past ten years; even fantasized about her. But I promised myself I would never tell Tommy. It really didn't need to be said. He didn't need to know.

I don't even know if Kimberly is still trying to defend her decision to reveal all to Tommy, but I'm now too busy filtering through a mess of youthful memoirs bound together in a chronicle of that single summer almost a decade ago. Miami, Florida had been my calling and with promise of free accommodation, I'd fled Angel Grove and travelled thousands of miles in search of nothing specific. Catching up with Kimberly again was just an added bonus. I have no idea where my head was at the time, but all I knew was I felt almost self-indulgently entitled to a couple of months free from worrying about ex-girlfriends and world peace.

Kimberly was on brief hiatus from training at the time and escorted me to every hot spot around, seemingly happy to join me down at the beach or to take me sightseeing. Heavily tanned and temporarily lacking any real responsibilities, this girl who I'd known damn well through high school quickly became not just a team mate nor my best friend's ex-girlfriend, but a woman in her own image.

Breaking down every barrier and crossing every line, what happened that July was something neither of us ever could have predicted. We'd shared a few very chaste kisses whilst out at an under-the-stars roller-rink earlier in the evening; but as the moon was all but extinguished by the blanket of night, we went from holding hands to making love. It was a first for the both of us. I think I spent many months revisiting our choice afterward. I felt guilty that maybe I'd acted out of spite because it was something I'd never had with my ex-girlfriend Emily; but I'd tried not to focus on how much I'd fucked up making love to the girl Tommy…my best friend…was probably still privately hurting over.

The pain I felt was tapered only by the experience itself, which was surprisingly a saving grace for me at a time where I was suffering in a mess of pathetic self-esteem issues. It was physically uncomfortable for the both of us to the expected degree, but I remember just being able to look at her and we could laugh a little. I don't know…maybe even in those very private moments, I imagined loving her more than I'd loved another person. I'd left Miami three weeks later severely confused but thanks to my very open and honest relationship with her, we'd agreed to throw away much of our shared guilt and put it all down to a life experience.

Currently lost in these thoughts, I barely notice as Kimberly places her half glass of wine on the carpet and hugs her knees to her chest.

"I don't think I love him," she says, so unexpectedly that it's the only thing that's managed to stir me from my stone.

I blink, still not thinking clearly. "You're just saying that, 'cause you're mad and hurt."

"No, I'm not," she shakes her head numbly. "For so many years Tommy and I have walked on eggshells. I hated the way things ended between us back then, and I really felt like I wanted to end it properly. Then I told myself, why should I forever feel this terrible over something that happened so long ago…I never, ever thought Tommy and I would have another chance. I knew that it was probably too soon for us, but the biggest mistake that I made was thinking that he was hurting over me all these past years. But I was wrong…he really has moved on and me, I don't know where I'm at."

"What are you going to do now?" I softly ask her after seconds of silence pass us by.

A pause. "It's done, over. Finished. I'm not going to talk to him again."

I watch as she lifts up her glass and finishes it in one mouthful. I follow suit, before reaching up to the table and grabbing the half emptied bottle, taking a swig from it.

"I hate this so much," she suddenly says, as a distant clap of thunder seems to echo her words.

"I know…" I barely speak. I am so sad now; literally pained by the sight of a woman, someone so beautiful and with so much life ahead of her, so helplessly choosing to live it in such a way. Is life really this hard?

How can I possibly make her see that she has so much more than she knows? To see her life for what it is?

That I would trade my life with her at any moment, if I wasn't robbing her of that ultimate gift. How can I make her see that she'll never understand anything that happens, or that has happened, until it's too late?

She starts to laugh, fairly softly and not overly obvious, but it certainly catches my attention because it's so out of place. "I'm really sorry for putting all of this on you, you must think I'm crazy," she remarks, reaching for the bottle of wine.

Everything about this moment is dreadfully pitiful. I should be ashamed in myself for sitting here, downing a bottle of grog like an underage teenager, but somehow it's almost the edge I needed to finally feel my way out of my previous stupor.

"Definitely," I say wryly. "But who isn't crazy. Kim? It's never too late to learn that trying to date your ex is kinda shitty no matter who it is."

She smiles softly, her lips closed, but eyes tender. Her feet slide down, legs stretching out until they gently brush my calf and I wonder for all the times that I observe her and see her sadness, if she ever sees mine? Where does it go…I'm not trying for her tonight; I'm not trying to save her but is she trying to save me?

Dying or not, I'm not dead and at this very minute, I'm very much alive.

And part of me suddenly finds myself playing with her fingertips, curling mine around hers and stroking her leg.

I pull back a little and wait. Her eyes will tell me if she wants me to stop; her hands will surely push mine away in a gentle, yet palpable manner. But she doesn't do either, and even though her eyes are looking at the small amount of ground between us, I somehow gather she's too frightened to show me that she wants it-.

"Wait," she suddenly speaks out, her hand fumbling to get her glass on the nightstand beside her.

I instantly hold back.

Crawling to kneel, she moves her free hands to cup my face, and I slowly move my face in them, kissing her fingers slowly and breathing softly on them with growing urgency.

* * *

Right now, I can't think with any clarity. Despite the chill that clings to the windows from outside, our breathing masks the storm from outside with its humid fog. An almost frenzied fever scolds over my face and it saturates me immensely as it lowers to meet hers below. My arms shake only slightly, weakened by my own weight and the burden of rush consuming my limbs. I feel only slightly fearful of my own self-consciousness. I should have doubts and hesitations in my own ability at this point but it all pales away as the softness of her skin silks beneath mine.

I feel like I'm burning and I only feebly try to reach back to grab the bed sheet as it slips down to my lower torso. Kimberly wraps her legs around the back of mine in response and all I can do is moan. My hand finds the back of her head and I sink somewhat, resting close against her as I search over such familiar, yet distant territory. I can only briefly recall the first time Kimberly and I had slept together. I had been both terrified and overwhelmed, much like I am now.

Her finger tips hover a messy trail up my back.

"Are you okay?" I barely manage to speak, my face lifting just enough to watch her nod quickly. I almost apologize; why, I don't know, but everything has been so long and I can't possibly comprehend that this is really happening.

I bury my face between her naked breasts and taste her sweet skin, lapping them up in-between my murmurs and heavy breathing, responding to her soft withering below me.

"Don't stop, keep going," she allows softly, and I gladly comply, unable to stop myself anyhow.

I try to focus on her velvety skin below, but it is almost impossible. The feel of her womanly curves is driving my instincts to an almost unbearable high. Her eyes flutter, but stay mostly closed, ecstasy sounding as I move my lips up to suck on her neck.

"God Kim," I murmur helplessly, running the tip of my tongue over her neck to her agape lips. She moves her head to grab my lower lip softly between her teeth, clutching the nape of my neck with a firm hand before driving her breath into mine.

She feels so fucking good. I kiss her over and over, trying not to lose our rhythm as I feel her legs draw further up my back. She's begging to me. I can't even hear her anymore.

"God…you feel so fucking hot," I barely get out, feeling myself reaching my boiling point.

Kimberly lets out a series of soft whimpers, each one bouncing off my thrusting, until she snatches behind my neck again and pulls me to her.

I kiss her hard, swallowing her tongue, fluttering pecks over her cheeks and then her ears.

"Don't…st -."

Her whispered pleas don't make any sense. I'm too lost in myself. Feeling my insides about to explode, I fumble my hands beneath me, steadying my body as I hold onto the moment as long as I can. This ever consuming high fades only slightly as I feel myself at the mercy of my own physical limitations. I ignore it. God knows I don't want this to end, and neither does she.

I pull out of her, and then push back inside, doing this over and over again with every ounce of control I have left. I know it's teasing her and she responds by nuzzling her face into my arm, her teeth edging softly and vibrating to the movements of her mouth. The sheet falls completely from my body and I shiver for that and the reason that her fingers are now pushing into me.

I obey her pressure, carefully grabbing under her waist and rolling over, trying not to break our connection. It's a release to lighten the strain on my tiring triceps and the mattress surrenders slightly to our momentum as I feel her reposition herself. She steadies her body carefully and I watch in an almost daze as she throws her head back a bit and thrusts herself against me.

Over and over. I grab her knees and pull them closer to me, unable to take my eyes from her glory. This spectacle is not lost in the very back in my mind; screw clarity. I don't give a crap about what it means or what it should lead to.

Kimberly's eyes move between closed and slightly open. The light from nearby mixes with an unbridled streetlight that urges between the hastily closed curtains and it plays upon her skin. There's a concentration on her face I've never been at liberty of seeing and it's precious enough that I move to guide her above me.

My hands propel her pace momentarily till the point that I'm slamming her against me, my hips slapping against hers. They knead her firmly from behind, pinching and twisting, tracing up her back and around to cup her small breasts.

She's panting. My hand slips before I reach behind with my other and grunt loudly as I feel myself come closer and closer-.

It's too soon for her but I feel myself groan as though the sound is something more physical than audible. My hands clamp around her waist. Everything within is forcing me to close my eyes, but I fight the urge, winning enough time to watch her flushed face suddenly drop toward mine. Despite my insides still twitching from her touch, I manage to catch her lips on mine, savoring their tingling by slowly massaging them back with my own.

I can still feel me inside of her, as I reach around her shoulders and pull her body against mine, neither of us daring to move on from this one moment.

* * *

Today. The morning after.

I wake up where I fell asleep only a few hours earlier- dangerously close to the edge of the bed. The sheet, however, is resting carefully over my naked body, far from where it had slipped to a second time around, during my two-am ravish of Kimberly.

The second time I'd felt her body glide over mine. Her leg had gently nuzzled up and down mine and we were both a little lost and yet found at the same time. I don't know if she'd wanted me again, but I knew I'd never physically be able to comply. So instead, I tried not to over think it and settled for a round of voracious and messy fondling, many words barely exchanged clearly as we both fought off the need for sleep. The pleasure was all mine to return.

The curtains are still peeking open and although the overcast sky from outside is giving off the impression that it is very early, I know that I've slept in. I feel so God damned confused and dazed, hung-over, but not from the half bottle of wine I'd downed with Kimberly last night- It's as though my head is going _"Wakey-wakey…do you realize what you just did and with whom?"_

Kimberly isn't in my room. The pile of clothes beside the bed is only half as tall as it was hours ago- all traces of her lilac underwear, dress and my sweater completely gone. I'm almost instantaneously overwhelmed by a sensation of emptiness, but as my consciousness rouses enough for me to sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the messy bed, I quickly feel relieved that she's not here.

That clarity thing I was mentioning last night is coming to light and I need to think through everything before I see her again. I haven't felt this afraid for a very long time.

_Jason,_ a note on the nightstand reads. _I'm sorry I had to leave before you woke up, my girlfriend called me in a frenzy. There's a lot we need to talk about and I hope we can catch up later today. I'll call you soon. Kim x_

After days of self-isolation, I was supposed to have been at my parents' house for breakfast this morning, and even though I know I'm late, I take a shower anyway. I don't even bother to check my cell. I feel too lazy to shave. My back still aches from God knows what I did with her last night, so I merely stand under the spray of water, resting my forehead against the tiles.

The pelts of water are like darts slapping into the skin of my back. Damn me for not being able to think of anything but the sensation of warm water and overbearing steam. Streaks of it drip down the wall that endures the weight of this pounding head of mine. Images of her sting my eyes. What I did was completely unforgivable. What clarity am I seeking now?

The first time it happened…all I focused on was the guilt I felt afterward. My guilt stemmed from so many places. I felt culpable because I hadn't been ready to sleep with my ex-girlfriend only months earlier. Reprehensible because I betrayed Tommy so much that I barely spoke to him for the ten years following. Pathetic because I cast my responsibility aside so easily and dismissed it as just an 'experience'.

What would Cindy have thought about what I did last night? She probably would have encouraged it. That is, until she realized how much I've fucked up. How I've completely gone opposite to everything and anything I used to be or stand for. I can't even imagine looking Adam in the eyes again. Don't even bother mentioning Tommy.

And Kimberly…This was so much more than just an experience or a mistake.

My guilt is more unbearable, and something that isn't just between my mind, my memories and the image of a dead friend. I realize I've suddenly done what I swore I wouldn't do.

Alive hours ago, I feel as good as dead now…God, what the fuck have I done?

---

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 18 "Tommy's Realization":**_

The fine print on the paper is easily lost as it crumbles in my strength, however a picture grabs my attention and I reach over to turn on a lamp, my eyes doing a double take.


	18. Tommy's Realization

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 18 - Tommy's Realization**

I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night.

I know that probably doesn't come as a huge shock. It had taken me literally an hour to calm down after Kimberly had made her decision to walk out on 'us'- and literally two hours following that to convince myself not to get in the car and follow after her. Then as the night crept into the early hours of the morning, all I did was stare into the darkness and think random thoughts of everything and nothingness.

And this morning hasn't delivered with it any form of clarity. The magical solution hasn't suddenly popped in my mind. Worst of all, I don't feel certain on anything that I said the night before hand. As much as everything I'd said to Kimberly was driven directly from my honest mind, I can't help but feel that I'd been the asshole.

I'm now trying to stomach a bagel and tepid coffee. Glancing toward a window, beads of rain still cling for all their life and the smell of moisture is still ripe following last night's freak storm. I hope that Kimberly made it home safe. I know I'm supposed to not care, but I do. Calling her now would be fairly hypocritical, besides I doubt my mouth would be able to speak as kindly to her as my thoughts do.

How long does it take to forgive someone? It had only taken a few weeks for me to forgive Kimberly after she'd sent me that stupid breakup letter. I wanted to cry and be ridiculous about it, but I also had a life that I couldn't just abandon because of her. And I have lived countless years without her being in arm's reach, not wasting even a thought a year on how much her decision hurt me when we were teenagers.

Looking back at the time following my hideous romantic failure with a girl called Heather, I can remember that first time I'd actually spoken to Kimberly. My first inclination had been to just flood her with weighty sentiments of how much I loved her and missed her- I practically had to slap the reminder into myself that this girl had literally moved on in life without me.

She had been so sorry back then. She's always been 'sorry'. Even during all these years of a salvaged friendship, where I've generally enjoyed our monthly phone conversations, I always sensed her guilt. I always wanted to tell her that she should just move on with her life and not worry about it, but part of me let her suffer like that on purpose. That's the nasty side of me and it's exactly the same side that came out last night.

Is it just me? Am I the only one in this God damned world who doesn't fuck around on other people?

I know what you're thinking right now, but allow me the chance to explain myself. Even though it was hard initially all those years ago, I'd accepted the fact that the freedom moving to Florida offered Kimberly was completely responsible for us falling apart. She had met someone really _wonderful_ and _fantastic_ - they ended up being together for literally years and years, so who am I to argue that what they had wasn't better than my rather childish high school romance with her? By the time a few years had passed and I found myself talking to Kimberly again, I even stood by her during the rocky times in her relationship with Luke.

I even helped convince her the first half a dozen times that they broke up that she should get back with him.

It's almost laughable now that I think about it.

From all accounts, Luke's a great guy, _blah blah blah_. He's 'successful' and all though I always tried to remain loyal to Kimberly, the better half of me sensed that she caused the majority of complications in their relationship.

They loved each other for years. He has been everything in her adult romantic life. And I honestly don't and never cared that much, because I wasn't part of it. He was and is just a name to me.

And despite all of this, she had the nerve to turn around last night and try to tell me that he wasn't _that_ important to her? That although we were never mature enough to do the deed ourselves, I should be leaping for joy because she didn't go and waste herself with the guy that she dumped me for.

Oh no, she went and gave herself to Jason instead.

I wanted to kill her. She had so many God damned chances to tell me about that, and so did Jason. To be honest, I couldn't give a shit about the act itself. But hearing her confession just reminded me why I never pursued her after I lost her the first time around.

I loved her so much. But, for all her beauty and kindness, she is nothing but a stain in my life. With everything left in my heart, I really wanted her to be every bit as perfect as the girl who brought me to life those early years together, but I was in denial. A stain like that never disappears.

_She should have just kept her mouth shut. _

And as I ponder that one, harsh statement, I realize that no matter what she said to me last night, we were doomed to have that argument and I was guaranteed to hate her for it. She would have been lying if she hadn't have told me- but she did nothing but make me see her as a liar by telling me.

I drop the corner of my bagel onto the plate, and release it to the couch beside me. I'm done with thinking this all over. The more I do, the more I realize that I was a jerk and treated her like crap. I can just see myself now; apologizing to her and telling her that everything is okay. Then I'm sure it would just be a matter of weeks again until something else came up and I pushed her away again.

And now, like fate would always have it, the phone rings. I don't want to answer it.

* * *

"What's the matter with you?"

It's Conner. Straight to the point, doesn't waste a moment to think about the other person he's questioning. He's lucky I even answered the phone. For the first time in my life, I am actually content with the prospect of listening to my former teammate blabber on about himself for half an hour. The distraction is desperately needed.

"Tell me about the game," I change the subject.

"Tell me about this chick of yours, what's-her-name-."

"She doesn't have a name. And I don't have time for a chat right now, so…" I stop. I know I'm getting angry at him and I can feel that even he's awkward.

I stay quiet.

"Dr O...are you all right?"

I absentmindedly scratch my head, and shuffle on the couch. "I'll be fine..."

He's quiet for a moment. "Well…I've got practice in half an hour so…I better head off…" he sounds as though he's trying to convince himself of something. "If you wanna, I don't know…chill, go fishing…let me know."

Conner's sincerity is not always his notable asset, but at this moment I find myself generally grateful of how he's handling me.

"Thanks Conner, I will."

I hear his side go blank, and lower the phone, my eyes following it as it sits upright in my hands. The better part of me makes a lazy effort to stand up and put it back in its cradle, but I flop back in my chair and rest it beside me, a lonely sigh the only evidence of life in the room.

My finger starts to tap on the cushion beside me and I study the phone for a moment, before I rescue it from its homeless position. I scroll through my last dialed numbers, finding Jason's and dial it once more. It rings several times and I begin to dread leaving a message I have no script for, before his weary voice answers tersely.

"Jase, bro…"

"Tommy," his voice recognizes me quickly, "Hey…sorry, I was asleep."

"Shit man, I'm sorry," I apologize, but not nearly grasping sincerity enough that I prevent my next sentence coming out far too impulsively: "Kimberly and I got into a massive fight last night when she told me that you…she lost her virginity with you."

The sentence feels uncomfortable and I don't know what I should be expecting from him. Talk about a moment of verbal diarrhea.

I hear the enduring fog in his voice struggle to lift at first, but his response takes me by surprise. "I know, Tommy- Kim came past here last night afterward and she was upset and told me what happened, but I told her that it was to be expected…"

I don't know how I feel about this, besides slightly uncomfortable. A pregnant pause passes long enough for me to notice how quiet things are on his end of the phone and I give into temptation.

Just a little.

"How...was she?" I wonder quietly, attempting not to sound over-eager.

"She was...you know," his voice is vague. "She was Kim."

I nod absentmindedly. There's a distance between us that feels greater than the one that separates Angel Grove and Reefside. My mind is playing those damn tricks again. You know the ones. Those little mind fucks that provide the perfect breeding ground and manifestation for suspicion and doubt.

This is the man who I verbally hung Kimberly over last night.

"It's nearly lunch," I state. Yes. That randomly.

"I was supposed to be out this morning but I wasn't feeling great," he explains, not bothering to conceal the fact that he really does sound like shit.

"I'm sorry you had to...hear all that last night," I offer for what it's worth. It feels sincere enough, although more than anything, I feel alarmingly ashamed by whatever he must be thinking.

I feel pathetic.

"Tommy, it's no big deal," he assures me, and his voice sounds a notch higher than before. "These things happen. You don't owe me an apology."

There's all these things I want to say. Ask. Say again. I want to scream down the phone at him. I want to squeeze at my temple so hard that tears spurt from my eyes in place of blood. I want to ask him why he chose her. Why her?

And more than anything...I want to ask him why things had to end up this way between us. Why the hell a girl, lack of physical proximity, whatever, had to take away the one thing we had over everything else.

Instead, I ask him nothing and say even less, before the call evaporates into just another addition to what has already been a fucking great morning.

* * *

"I come baring dinner."

My eyes flick downwards at the paper bag in Hayley's hands' and it's like an entire speech contained in a couple of burgers and fries.

"Let me guess, you're going to say 'I told you so'?"

Her face remains steady, its features revealing little but a hint of impatience in her eyes. I move to the side and she walks in past me, heading for my dining table without saying a word.

"I thought you were working tonight?" I'm mumbling absentmindedly, almost dragging my feet across the room, watching her blankly as she removes the food from its bag.

If it were anyone else, I would be uncomfortably interrogating them as to how in the hell they realize I need this right now, but this is Hayley and anyone who knows this woman knows better than to ask her something so obvious.

"I assume you haven't tried the burgers at Veil's Café?" she asks me and I shake my head, taking a seat opposite her. I slowly unwrap my burger, waiting for her to say something meaningful.

She moves a fry to her mouth, taking a bite as she arranges her elbows on the table before her. "So tell me what happened," she finally asks, studying me closely.

I place my burger back down, wiping a hand over my face. "Kimberly came yesterday to stay for the weekend. We had a pretty good time, I showed her around town, and we grabbed some lunch and had a picnic at Flynn's beach. I brought her back here and cooked her dinner," I pause as I notice a most pronounced expression in her eyes and I tighten my lips.

"Get to the chase, Tommy," she encourages me.

I clear my throat. "We were talking in the kitchen while I was cooking. We talked about some stuff from the past, old girlfriends and boyfriends…" I lick my lips, suddenly not so keen to continue this retelling. "She told me that she…" I cringe, the words not finding any sound.

Hayley frowns, her entire face contorting into an almost bemused confusion. "She told you what? That she loves you?"

"No," I counter instantly, bunching a napkin unconsciously in my hand.

"That she doesn't like your dinosaur figurine collection?"

I prop my arms up on the table, sighing loudly as I stare intently at her. "It's not, a…figurine collection," my voice lowers over the description embarrassingly, "And seriously, Hayley, you're not helping here."

"Look, Tommy," she says in that voice she turns on whenever she's lecturing one of the kids. "We both know that communication isn't exactly your prized asset. I've exchanged a night at work to sit here and be your shoulder to cry on. So, cry or otherwise get to the point."

I lean back slowly in my chair, my eyes staring out at nowhere. "She told me that she lost her virginity to Jason," I reveal, blinking my eyes in one long exaggerated motion as though to lessen the bitterness.

As they reopen, I find Hayley still in her previous position, another fry making its way into her mouth.

"Tommy, how old are you?"

I say nothing.

"She's what? Twenty nine?" her hand flicks upwards, a fry dangling precariously from its tip. "Since when did it become a crime to sleep with more than one person over twelve years?"

I shake my head defensively. "I'm not saying it's a crime," I argue. "I just assumed that…" I try to gather my rebuttal. "She'd only been with Luke."

Another fry in her mouth. I'm almost annoyed that she can continue to eat so freely throughout this.

"And Luke is the ex-boyfriend of many years?" she clarifies and I nod. She studies me quietly. "Are you sure that you didn't just freak out? It's been awhile since you've dated-."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That from the sounds of things, Tommy, you caused all of this," she reasons, her previous sarcasm scarce. "You wanted her to be honest with you, yet when you heard it, you punished her anyway."

"You don't get it, Hayls- Jason is like a brother to me," it's all I can get out, before I rub my brow intently with forceful fingertips.

"I understand that you feel somewhat betrayed by this, Tommy, but you need to face reality. She chose to be with Jason at that time and she's choosing now to be with you. It couldn't have been easy for her to admit something like that to you…who she is now has nothing to do with whoever she chose to sleep with over a decade ago."

I'm trying to listen carefully to her words and believe me, it's not hard to be swayed when much of it made up my early morning pep talk to myself. The common sense literally peels at my eyes, opening them wide; my head is registering all of this. Kimberly technically didn't do anything wrong. But what if you look beyond the technical points? What about morally?

We remain in silence for a good couple of minutes, as I lamely pick at my food, enveloped in my own internal debate.

"The fact is," Hayley starts up from nowhere with the sound of food still in her mouth, "That everyone makes mistakes. You, me, Kimberly, whoever. And you know, it's not about the mistakes we make but how we handle them afterward." The muffled sound in her voice clears. "You can think of all the excuses you want to push every woman away, but one day you'll look back on your life and realize that you missed out on too much."

The side of my head rests on my hand, my eyes looking directly at her. "You don't do that to your best friend," I murmur barely loud enough for even myself to hear.

Hayley scrunches her burger wrapper into a ball, standing up from her chair. My eyes move to follow her, not expecting her to leave so quickly.

"You're going to be a lonely man, Tommy, unless Earth is fortunate enough to catch the attention of a new villain," she states flatly. "Do me a favor and date a woman whose favorite color isn't pink and who hasn't been a ranger."

Despite the lecture, I'm not as responsive as I probably should be and are still oddly out of sorts. "Do you think I should call her?"

"No comment," is all she says, before she heads for my front door, making her way out.

I sigh, the silence enough to rouse me a little from my moping and I feel instantly regretful, only not nearly enough to call Hayley to apologize. The light from outside has muted to an uncomfortable level, darkness a parched weight that sets softly over the table before me as though waiting for me to stand up and banish it with the flick of a switch.

I finish off my burger, only just registering how good it tastes, despite the fact that it's cooled quickly over the barrage of Hayley's lecturing and my nonchalant pining. I sigh again, if only to make a sound, and decide to clean up our mess, ink marking my hands off the strange use of newspaper pages to house the food. The fine print on the paper is easily lost as it crumbles in my strength; however a picture grabs my attention and I reach over to turn on a lamp, my eyes doing a double take.

_KEARNS Cindy, died aged 33 after a heroic fight with terminal cancer on the 11__th__ February 2008, much loved daughter of Geraldine and partner of Jason. Funeral at St. Patrick's church in central Angel Grove at 10am on 14__th__ February. No flowers please, but donations can be sent to Angel Grove Memorial Hospital as a thank you to the care offered to Cindy and support offered to her loved ones during her illness. _

My eyes bounce between the death notice and black and white picture above it. The photo. The notice. The photo. The notice. The photo. The photo of a woman sitting down in between an older lady with cropped hair and a man, short dark hair and the eyes of someone I know too well.

Of Jason. Our Jason.

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 19 "Kimberly's two-am caper":**_

He turns around from where he's bent over the sink and I stagger back a little, my eyes widening as I notice the wet, crimson tarnish streaked and smudged down the front of his cream top.

"Oh my gosh-."


	19. Kimberly's Twoam Caper

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 19 – Kimberly's two-am caper**

I can't sleep.

Even as I feel like I've transcended from thoughts to the beginning credits of a legitimate dream, I'm conscious of the fact that the digital clock on my nightstand is flashing. I can hear the pair of Maltese terriers from two doors down barking incessantly, to the point where I'm more than just not sleeping, but completely wide awake.

I kick the blanket off and the night's breath rejuvenates me, causing me to jolt a little. Fumbling blindly through the dark, I find my lamp and click it on, squeezing the sudden burst of amber light away as I tightly clamp my eyes shut.

It's eleven o'clock and I want to be asleep. My day was anything short of several in one. I can only vaguely recall creeping out of Jason's motel room at God knows whatever time that was. I tried to call him several times; each and every single time it went to voice mail. It was enough to stir the bile in my stomach but I decided to play down my own anxiousness and instead left only two messages. I'd spent the day sitting in the maternity ward reading old issues of women's magazines while I waited for Carmel to be seen to by a doctor.

Pregnancy is evidently very stressful. It's not even my baby and I have enough things on my mind, but it's more than plenty to frighten the living hell out of me. She's been inundated with a string of complications and doctors have decided to place her on bed-rest quite possibly until the baby comes. I think I would lose my mind.

One of the magazines I was left to drone over for almost an hour today had a glossy eight-page spread on how to invigorate your sex life. See; I don't even need to waste five bucks a month on Cleo. I'm trying so hard not to think about last night, only the more I attempt this, the more I do.

I don't even want to get back to analyzing why Jason never called me back.

And Tommy..._Don't even go there._

I frustratingly turn to my nightstand. Things are getting really bad if I'm forcing myself to read a novel that's taken me literally eighteen months to read, because I only turn my attention to it at times like these. Times where I think so loudly that I almost begin talking to myself.

"Come on Kim," I whisper with impatient encouragement to myself, as I pull my knees to my chest and open the book in my lap. I can't even remember where I read up to last...I go to where my crinkled bookmark has lived for too many months and instantly I feel so lazy, that I almost feel sleepy again.

Until the doorbell sounds.

With all the natural irrational fear tickling inside, I cautiously reach for my robe and almost tip-toe to the front door, peering discreetly through the peeping hole.

"Kim?"

I flinch a little at the sound of his voice, but just as quickly fumble to unlock the chain, swinging the door open before honestly giving thought as to what I might be letting in.

"Jason..." I flick my hand and clap my thigh. "Wow, I uh..."

"Yeah, it's late I know," he states, before offering me a pleasant smile- Jason's smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you out of bed."

"Oh this," I run my hand over the front of my torso. "I wear these all day, don't worry," I joke and his smile broadens. "Do you want to come in?"

He nods and I move to the side, my eyes discreetly following him as I close the door behind me and watch him stand at the mouth of my living room. I can feel myself staring, lingering at his presence, before I quickly remember all my unanswered phone calls today. I can't help but wonder why he's here; why now.

"This is a nice place," he compliments, looking over his shoulder to me. "Now I can see why you're so well suited to work in an art gallery."

I tuck my arms over my chest. "What makes you say that?" I wonder.

He smiles tightly. "Everything in here is so...nice, it's like a gallery in itself," he explains.

I let out a small laugh. "I'm a hoarder, nothing more than that," I assure him, as I gesture for him to follow me as I lead us out into the kitchen.

I move to grab two glasses, pausing as he rests at the opposite side of the bench. My eyes flick down a notch. "You uh...didn't tell me why you're here," I mention evenly, as I move to grab a half bottle of wine from the fridge.

He lets out a pleasant sigh, catching my attention. "I wanted to talk. I know I wasn't really in the mood to do so this morning," he admits with discreet shame.

"So you...got my messages then?" I clarify quietly and he nods a little.

"I uh," his fingers move to gently caress his creased forehead, before his eyes sneak out from under his hand. "I guess there was something I wanted to tell you...talk to you about."

My pulse zigzags and despite this, I mismatch his gaze. I quickly pour us both a small glass, and move to hand one to him. He seems to hesitate, his eyes remaining on my hand until I coax him with a "I can't drink two glasses on my own."

He raises an eyebrow and I pull a quick face, before I slowly walk back out to the living room, stopping momentarily as I feel his skin brush my hand. My insides shudder and yet I continue on, lowering myself into the corner of the couch, as he settles down beside me.

Even under this pale, uneasy light, I can see the skin of Jason's face is so much more alive than this morning and I have to shake myself out of a stare in time to catch him laugh a little at me.

I take a sip of my drink. "You're looking better tonight than when I left his morning," I observe and he nods.

I can't keep it inside anymore. "Please don't tell me you're here to let me down gently," I swallow nervously, as though I barely know him. "I haven't stopped thinking about last night…"

He shuffles a little, turning his body more so we're sitting face to face. "Me either…last night was-."

He stops as a smile tweaks at the corner of my lips, and I can tell that at this very moment, the events of last night-of early this morning- are playing right between us. It's as though I can feel his hands wash over me again, the sound of him wanting me battering against my ears like the sound of my heart as he stirred me over and over again.

"I'm sorry about today, Kim, I get that way sometimes. I guess I'm not as young as I used to be," he mentions and I smile comfortingly, knowing all too well what he means.

"You still look as good as you ever did," I compliment him, smiling slyly and he almost blushes.

"I'm supposed to be the one saying that to you," he corrects me lightheartedly.

I shrug his comment off, tucking one foot under the opposite leg. "I know you too well, Jase...you were never one to resort to the cheesy lines. Just tell me that last night wasn't..." I lick my lips, feeling as though I'm starting to sweat, when I know my skin feels cold to touch. "I want you to know something."

He shakes his head quickly, finishing his glass and lowering it on the table before us. "Don't, Kim...you don't need to say anything."

"But I want to," I assure him. "I want you to know that I'm not someone who does that sort of thing...I mean, it's been awhile and..." I pause, breathing out and laughing a little at myself, before looking directly in his eyes. "I've only ever been with two men in my whole life, Jase...outside of Luke, you're it."

He chews on his lower lip, studying me carefully. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, I know who you are and I like who you are. If I thought badly of you, I would have listened to my mother when she told me you were trouble."

My mouth drops open, but he retracts his statement just as quickly. "I'm joking, Kim!" he chuckles, before his face returns more serious. "As long as we're being honest with each other, it's been…more years for me than I can count…"

I don't know why, but this comment stuns me and I seriously hope that my face is not showing this. It's not as though as I think that Jason is promiscuous by any means, but given his looks…his kindness; his soul- I don't know, I guess I just assumed that he would have been far more practiced than I.

He lets out a sly cough and I blink. "Guess my stud status just flew out the window…"

I giggle. "Oh Jason, it's not that…being with you has made me think a lot about my own life and how I've always been pretty presumptuous about what everyone else is doing with theirs. To be honest with you…the fact that you're not like that goes a long way to make me more comfortable about…whatever is going on here."

His eyes blink, casting their dark centers downwards in quiet contemplation. "How would you feel if I stayed the night?" he questions quietly, looking back at me. "Not as anything more than two old friends giving each other some much needed company."

My eyelids shelter him from my view for a reflective moment and I nod slowly. I feel almost ashamed to admit it, but I want him to stay. I want someone to lie beside me, even if it's just for a night. Someone who I know doesn't have another commitment or person ahead of myself. Someone who is here for no other reason than for me.

"I'd like that Jase," I reply gratefully, before my thoughts rewind back a little, my heart skipping a beat. "Um, you didn't tell me whatever it is...you wanted to talk about," I remind him gently.

His face doesn't move. Not a crease, wrinkle, blink, nothing. "I...." I follow his eyes as they skim around like the beam of a lighthouse.

"I'm really glad that I have you back in my life," he says simply.

* * *

I didn't realize how used to living on my own I've become, until right now. I was sleeping fine; really well, actually. I think I subconsciously felt Jason's body near mine and that probably helped a little.

Now I can feel myself coming out of sleep, and I realize he's not here. I can see it clearly, light from my adjoining bathroom streaming through the otherwise dense night. I look at my clock and it's only two-am.

I hope he comes back to bed soon so I can return to that happy place again.

I toss to the left and then to the right. I roll around, but the blanket becomes tangled, and so I kick it off.

I sigh. He's still in the bathroom.

Knocking softly on the door, I wait a moment, until I gently slide the door open.

"Jase?"

He turns around from where he's bent over the sink and I stagger back a little, my eyes widening as I notice the wet, crimson tarnish streaked and smudged down the front of his cream top.

"Oh my gosh-."

I can see his lips curl from underneath the wet cloth at his nose. "It's just a blood nose," he reassures me, moving the cloth a little so he can speak clearer.

I drop my head a little to the side, and move to him, gently putting my arm around his shoulder. "It looks like a really bad nose bleed," I comment, still unable to relax, despite his casual tone. "How on earth did your nose start to bleed so badly in the middle of the night?"

He tips his head back a little, and I move to take the cloth from him, dropping it into the basin.

"I hope I didn't get any on your sheets."

I run the cloth under the tap, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror's reflection, and so I smile reassuringly. "Don't worry about that…has it stopped?"

His hand is still under his nose and I really can't tell. I think he wants me to look after him, to baby him; I'm not really sure, but he's not exactly stopping me from intervening here.

"Sit down," I motion to the side of the bathtub, before I gently push him down to a seated position.

I kneel before him, and begin to carefully run the cloth over his face. I can smell him so clearly, him and his faint aftershave. The skin on his face is smooth, not even a trace of stubble. I'm a little under a trance.

I hum a little. "You okay? You're quiet…"

"I'm enjoying the attention," he admits and I grin.

"Remember that time I got that really bad nosebleed at summer camp?" I reminisce. "I think it's Murphy's Law that you only get a nosebleed when you're wearing white."

He chuckles a little and the smile remains, as I gently trace the cloth along his lips in my own private moment.

I shuffle a little on my knees, conscious of the way my nightdress is creeping up my folded thighs and the angle that Jason's eyes' are lowered on me. I don't think he's trying to sneak a peek, but he's still making me nervous because I am the one having the naughty thoughts.

"All cleaned up. You should have a shower," I decide for him, finally lowering the cloth and moving back a little.

Phew, there, that's better. Yes, I need the space now.

Jason reluctantly stands up from his seat on the side of the bath and we share this really, really awkward, dopey look. He turns the taps of the shower and once again looks back at me.

His eyes are molding my insides, but that energy in them dims somewhat to the serious look that Jason has always been famous for.

I can see his Adam's apple move in his neck as though he's gulped. "You know, you really shouldn't look at me like that Kim," he says. "When you look at me like that, you uh..." another attempt at a discreet gulp. "You make me want you again."

My own breath locks down.

He starts to pull his shirt over his head but suddenly stops and I step forward reaching for the sides of his torso with my shaky hands, sliding them up to tug at the material over his head. As I drop his shirt to the floor at our feet, my movement makes the spaghetti strap of my gown slip off my shoulder as though to invite the favor in return.

Our faces float only inches away, hands doing all the work as I move mine to pull at the elastic of his jocks and Jason moves his in all different directions. My nightgown falls down to the ground and I actually feel this shock of cold and yet I've never wanted anything so much in my life before.

We kiss. His hands move over my breasts, gently cupping them and then brushing over their mounds with this tingling sensation.

I giggle a little, not my intended response and he smiles; another quick kiss; then we try the last minute verbal confirmation as our kissing becomes deeper and Jason slowly backs us under the falling heat of the shower.

"Are you sure...that you...want this..."

I moan as he carefully turns us around and forces me against the tiles beneath the shower's spray. "Jason, I..."

His hands pull at the back of my thighs, kneading my skin. I oblige to his pressure, allowing him to jerk me up a little roughly and we collide against the wall heavily behind us. We fumble, the position is, after all, nothing short of awkward, but that doesn't stop us or slow our hypnotic movements.

"Jase-."

"Just tell me to stop," he huskily murmurs, caressing the side of his face against mine.

The water is spilling over my face, his tongue driving me wild as he moves to that spot on my neck just beneath my ear lobe. He's leveraging his weight, bouncing me slightly against his hips; sliding his arms under my legs and pulling them tight around him.

Amongst the heat of messy, impulsive sex- needless to say, neither of us can fathom a 'yes' or a 'no' to any questions.

* * *

I've only had one coffee- yes, you heard it right, one coffee and I feel so alive.

I may only need one this morning. Actually, it would probably be kinder to my soul if I starved it from anything else to ravish at it and hype it up after the night that I had.

I should be really tired, but I'm not.

Cupping the hot drink in between my hands, I stare at my ajar bedroom door from where I'm sitting at the breakfast bar. I'm considering going back to bed, really. I want to do things right with him this time, maybe crawl underneath the sheets beside him and just talk about whatever it is that's manifested itself between us the last forty-eight hours.

I finish off the last drop of my coffee and reach over for my cell, pulling it off the charger. The screen is blinking and I sigh a little as I notice that I missed a call from Tommy at some stage.

_Knock, knock, knock_

I growl quietly and jog out toward the front door, hoping that whoever is there hasn't managed to wake Jason. I still want my chance to talk to him, God damn-it.

I pause for a moment and open the door, instantly moving the door back to tighten the gap between us.

Carmel raises her eyebrows. "Kim..." and her sentence kinda trails off like that.

"Aren't you supposed to be on bed-rest?" I accuse with little break between any of my words.

"Well...I am, but I thought I'd sneak out while John was out and grab some of those box sets off you to pass some time."

I'm licking at my lips, nibbling on them a little; freaking out.

"Can I come in?"

I hold onto the door as though it's keeping me from tumbling over. "I was just about to have a shower."

Carmel moves her hands so they're sitting on top of her slightly rounded stomach. "What's wrong?"

My eyes have already betrayed me. "Nothing..."

"Don't nothing me, Kim," she states in an accusing tone. "Which one of them is it this time?"

I scoff a little, more out of shock than distaste. "Jesus, Carmel, you're really making me sound like a slut..."

Carmel's lips' purse a little. "You know that's not what I was saying..."

I sigh, straightening myself up with a quick jerk of the body. "Look, Jason's inside; asleep," I begin, pausing as Carmel's face kind of twists around a bit.

"I knew it," she blurts out as though talking to herself. "John told me he's been in and out of the gallery just to say 'hi' to you...I thought it was Tommy you were getting with-."

"Yeah, well a lot of things have changed over the last few days," I counter defensively. "Tommy doesn't want to see me anymore, okay? He thinks I'm a slut."

Whoa, okay, I'm a bit edgy.

I've been through too many emotions since the moonlight of this morning- contentment, ecstasy, excitement, and as much as I know it'll only be time until I have to face the music, I don't want to let go of any of that right now. Not at this moment.

I turn my face and rest it against the door still dividing us. Carmel's hand takes literally five seconds to reach my shoulder.

"I like him, Car..." I admit in the voice belonging to my small, inner child.

I look at her and then roll my eyes, a smile slowly stretching on both of our faces. "Jason," I elaborate. "Everything is so easy with him...I don't feel all this tension when we're together, it's like we both understand what we need to give to each other without jumping through hoops for it."

"Just so I'm sure I'm getting this right, you have slept with him, haven't you?" Carmel asks.

My cheeks flush, or at least they feel like they do. Slept with each other? Yeah, that's one word for it...Images of our rather adventurous and frequent lovemaking and messing around over the past forty-eight hours flash in my mind, stealing my attention momentarily.

"Come with me to 'Bobby's' to pick up some breakfast and I'll tell you everything then," I promise. "I'll just get those DVDs and throw some clothes on."

I do the tentative jog to my bedroom in search of clean clothes, momentarily distracted by Jason's naked body still in my bed. The blanket is on the floor at the foot of the bed and my sheets are crinkled and twisted, draped precariously over so little of his smooth skin. It makes me just want to touch him, you know?

I smile a little to myself at that thought, and turn to my wardrobe, pulling out a shirt and pants that I'm sure don't match. As I pull on my boots I notice him stir a little and I drop down on the side of the mattress beside him.

My fingers gently brush over his bare forearm as his eyes open slightly, their centers reflecting the light from the window. "Hey..."

"I'm just going to get us some breakfast," I tell him. "There's this great little place just around the corner that makes really nice breakfast on the go..."

He shuffles his body around a little and I'm tempted to lean down and plant a gentle kiss on those lips, but I don't. We have to talk, remember? Starting our deep and meaningful conversations with any type of foreplay no matter how innocent, has proven to completely blow our chances at talking about this...thing- whatever we want to call it.

I smile a little silly. "You should have a shower..." my voice teases him. "I put your shirt in the sink to soak, but I don't know if it will get the stains out."

He nods and mouths a 'thanks', clearing the fog in his throat. "You didn't have to do that."

I shrug a little and squeeze his arm one more time, before I walk out the room and pull the door close, meeting Carmel near the front door.

I dig around in my handbag, searching for my shades. I push them all, and quickly ruffle and flick my hair about.

"Let's go," I declare, heading for the door.

"Kim...when did this thing between you and Jason start?" Carmel asks quietly, remaining on the spot.

I pause with my hand on the door. "A couple of days ago," I reply honestly.

Carmel's eyebrows' narrow thoughtfully. "So, why would Tommy have broken it off with you because he thought you were as you say, a slut?"

I pucker my lips to the side of my face. "Remember how I told you that Luke wasn't my first, that-."

"Tommy was your first..." Carmel finishes my sentence off with the version that she knew of.

I open the door and shake my head. "No, Car, Tommy and I have never...made love..." I look up as she follows me through the door, moving rather quickly for a woman carrying extra weight.

"Kim, I'm really starting to get confused over this."

"Jason was my first," I admit, watching her face as it literally morphs before me through five different expressions. "I decided to take a chance on the fact that Tommy and I had something, but I was wrong and now I know he won't ever forgive me for what I did twelve years ago."

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 20 "Jason's Exit":**_

He finally spins around, his arms lowering to his sides. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks and it's all there- disgust, anger and disappointment. Perhaps trying to psych a response, I instead remain silent as his eyes inflame at my apathy. "You are being nothing but a coward."

I finally stretch out to stand. "I don't want to fight with you-."


	20. Jason's Exit

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 20 - Jason's Exit**

I think I might have dosed off again after Kimberly left to fetch breakfast. Even now, as I drag myself out of bed and try to find my jeans from last night, I'm tempted just to lie back down and wait for her to come home.

Man, now I know things were crazy if I can't even find one pair of pants in this small bedroom. I don't feel naked, I _am_ naked. And with a little bit of luck I'll stop thinking about all the things I did to her last night - this morning, a few hours ago and actually put some God-damned clothes on before I try and talk sensibility to her.

My thoughts touch on the remnants and I remember how awkward we were. I've never...done anything like that before, especially not in a shower in what was definitely the most uncomfortable yet hottest position I can picture. She kept slipping from my grip, and yet it only forced me to keep yanking her back up and slamming her back against the tiles. We almost finished together and the clarity that comes with climaxing caused me to panic that maybe she said stop somewhere along the way, but I didn't hear her through the water pelting down above us.

Well aware that she was probably longing for her own culmination, we messily half-dried each other with one towel before I escorted her back to bed, lapping her up with all the energy I had left. Withering beneath my touch, I then climbed up beside her, absolutely physically beyond spent and mentally hyperactive. Twenty minutes of aimless talk followed, but it was nice. I was too scared to touch her, but she kept rubbing her bare legs against mine and I was a goner from there.

I don't know what inspired the frenzy of passion. I didn't feel out of control, and yet I felt like the pure excitement of feeling hands on me like that was too much for me to grasp. I barely had a minute to contemplate my insecurities, such as the fear that physically, I'm more than likely inadequate. My naked skin still bares the lack of hair I obtained through chemotherapy treatments years ago and my subsequent hormonal deficiencies. I didn't even know if I had any libido but clearly...that didn't end up being an issue.

I've found my jeans now and I'm walking around her apartment, feeling antsy. I take a leak in the bathroom, and notice my shirt soaking in her sink, the stain still visible beneath the surface of the water. There's the reminder. _Fuck_- I thought I'd told myself I wasn't going to do this. The night before in the motel, that was an impulsive, unplanned act, but this time I should have known better. And I did, but I chose to ignore it. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.

_What am I going to say to her..._I need to tell her. I need to tell her the truth...

I sigh loudly at the thought, as a short rap sounds on the front door. I stare at it for a moment, wondering why Kimberly would be knocking on her own door, unless of course she's just trying to be cute, which is very her.

_Come on Jase;_ put on a smile. Thinking of her does make me smile…

I open the door and meet a different set of eyes and a million things start jotting through my head.

"Jason…" Tommy's greeting trails off into nothingness as he stares at me holding onto Kimberly's front door, dressed in crinkled jeans, with messy hair and wearing no shirt.

His look is transparently disturbing. "Uh, Kim's not here right now," I start speaking as though I'm talking to a complete stranger.

"Can I come in?"

I'm not really sure what to do, but he walks past me anyway. I feel like a dog and I can't take this anymore, I can't do this now, not with Tommy, not like this. Now all I can think about is that rainy night, Kimberly convincing herself and the world that she wanted Tommy out of her life even though no one could believe her lying eyes. I'd taken her during the very heart of that stormy twilight and possibly without the right to. This morning, was it more than just a mistake? Do I have the exemption to defend myself or do I have even an ounce of right to say that I wanted her, now that it was more than a once-off?

My hand remains rested on the handle of the door. I must appear as though I've frozen, my eyes a straight arrow through the back of the door.

"Jason?"

My legs feel weakened as I turn to acknowledge him. With the early morning light filtering through the far kitchen window, his silhouette appears exceedingly distorted and I rub my eyes, suddenly feeling less than my previous energetic self.

"I'm…sorry," is all I whisper, and it's impossible for him to hear me because I'm merely thinking it and not whispering it at all.

"Jason, I know about Cindy," the words are like five knocks to my skull and I find myself jerking my neck, shadows falling over my eyes as I struggle to keep them open.

"What do you….mean you know about Cindy?" I ask quietly, trying to untighten the ball of my fist as it starts to cramp.

Tommy reaches into the pocket of his pants, unfolding what looks to be a piece of paper. He extends it before him and I sigh, reluctantly approaching him.

"I came across this not meaning to," he explains, as he passes the clipping to me.

I clasp the death notice between my fingers, swallowing heavy. I can't look at it, I can't look at it, make it go away.

My hand lowers and I don't register the way it flaps against my thigh as my hand continues to tremble.

"You've never…mentioned her…" Tommy's voice sounds as lost as I feel. "You loved her?"

I go to take a step, but fall short, almost stumbling until I find my way to one of Kimberly's single chairs. Tommy moves for me quickly, the concern heavy in his stricken look.

"Jason, what happened?"

I'm shaking my head, over and over and over, my vision lost with the momentum. "Cindy…Cindy, she was my friend," I whisper hoarsely. "She died…she had a very aggressive cancer…we met when she was already sick and I tried to be the person she could rely on for anything and everything and…she died…"

Tommy lowers on the couch nearby, neither of us moving as the newspaper cutout falls and flaps like a leaf to the floor.

* * *

"Bro I'm…" his sentence is lost to the oblivion that engulfed me well before this conversation began, well before Kimberly shared herself with me and well before this lifetime it feels.

To look at Tommy now would be like returning to another life. My skin feels itchy and bare. A random car horn sounds from somewhere in the near distance and it fails seeking my attention beyond my mental recognition.

I lower my face into one of my hands and rub at my skin. Her smell leaves its trail.

"I'm sorry about Cindy," Tommy offers heavily.

"I knew it was going to happen so…" I forget what point I'm trying to make.

He shuffles only slightly. "In the newspaper clipping it mentions that you were her partner…were you-."

"No," I cut him off in monotone. "It wasn't like that I mean…we couldn't have a relationship… she was so sick."

I'm not sure what I'm waiting for him to ask me. Why I hid all mention of my dead friend away from everyone or why I'm sitting with only creased jeans on in Kimberly's apartment or if I'm dying of cancer, even though there's nothing anywhere to suggest this.

"Where's…Kim?"

"She went to get breakfast."

Silence. I squeeze my eyes within my fingers before finally looking up at him.

"I don't want to betray Kimberly's privacy," I murmur sincerely, watching as his eyes search mine. "I stayed the night last night…I didn't plan for this to happen."

Tommy's eyes' lever off me, an uncomfortable sound clearing from his throat. "Do you," his lips part and remain still as though paused in still motion. "When did…"

I lick my lips. "Tommy, it's not like that, I promise you…"

"What is it like, Jase?" He catches me off guard with a steady voice, his eyes locking onto mine intently. "What you and Kimberly choose to do with your lives is not my business, but you are clearly not in…" he sighs heavily, his hand flicking in my direction. "What happened to you, bro? I know it's been a long time, but you don't look to be in any state to be getting involved with anyone."

I know what Tommy is saying makes perfectly logical sense and given the situation, he's being more civil than I should even deserve; yet despite this, I feel a need to almost argue his point, even though I know that I have absolutely nothing to armor myself with.

My only defense is lousy. I'm dying and being with Kimberly is some sort of beautiful motion between giving her a reason to smile and giving me one at the same time. When her dark eyes look over to me, what else could I see but her faith in me that makes me so intent to give her what I'll never have? Does that sound pathetic? In even the most painful moments of life, does human need fail to excuse us when those around us are free from the same agony?

I shake my head absentmindedly as words fail to reach me.

Tommy slumps back against the couch, his head tipping back on top of its headrest as his eyes locate the ceiling.

"There's some shocking irony in this," he says quietly.

"I know…Tommy, look…Kimberly isn't…Kim and I are not-."

"Yeah, I know," he cuts me off without any bite. "Please don't explain, if anyone made the wrong decision here it was me when it came to thinking that Kimberly was finally ready to…I don't know." He shakes his head to himself. "However many months ago, she was a monthly phone call and since then, everything progressed so quickly inside of me. I don't know what it was…but I saw something in her and I couldn't let it go."

His chivalrous handling of this is almost more than I can stand. I remember when we were kids and our parents would comment just how alike we were. One-of-a-kind. I'd never met anyone else like him and now, a lifetime later, I couldn't feel more worthless to see that we are not the same at all. Tommy's been nothing but completely upfront with me and me; I've done nothing but lie, cheat and starve him out of any respect or friendship he deserves.

I have no one to blame but myself and blame is such a useless factor in all of this. I have no excuse.

"Look Jase…whatever is happening here or with you, you need to at least be honest with Kim."

I can't take this anymore. Why isn't he laying into me? Bashing my head against the nearby wall and pinning my splintered body against its surface while he spits in my face and disgusts me as the pathetic loser I am? He needs to stop talking to me like this. He needs to quit being so fucking reasonable.

Doesn't he fucking see how much I hate myself right now and how I don't need him to condone my selfish decisions?

I'm in Kimberly's bathroom before I realize, disconcertedly staring down at my shirt that remains drowned in the sink where she soaked it for me. The tell-tale splatter of blood remains a heavy stain despite, and I pull the plug and wring the shirt out, keeping it bunched in my hand as I exit and head back out to the living room.

Tommy is frowning heavily.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, as I grab a stray pen and scrap of paper from nearby and proceed to write Kimberly a note.

I stare at the words '_Dear Kim_' before I finally reply.

"I'm leaving her a note."

"A note? I thought you said she was getting breakfast? I'm not here to mess your morning up and I certainly don't plan to stick around."

"I'm not asking you to leave, bro," I manage dispiritedly, as my hand continues to scrawl its unscripted message. "I…I just have to go."

Tommy leans forward and although I'm not looking at him, I can sense his comprehension behind my vagueness.

"What is it with the letter thing? Trust me on this; it's not a great way to break-up with someone-."

"Kimberly and I are not together," I cut him off, lacking emotion. I stare at him for a moment, before my face falls. "She deserves better than that."

"Yeah, she does," Tommy agrees, nodding. "But you can't make that decision for her. I'm not fucking blind, Jase; I know that you've got shit going on but you don't need to do this. You don't need to run away from us."

My hand comes to a halt with his deliverance. The plastic pen leans dangerously in between my fingers, its pale weight dragging at me like lead. I try to read over my note but I can barely concentrate and all I end up doing is mouthing soundless words that fail to connect any meaning.

"Let me tell you this Jase. It's been years since you and I have even had anything much to do with each other, and you want to know something? Till this day, you're still my best friend. Life will take us to all kinds of distant places, but none of that changed how much I trust you bro. Don't shit on everything like you don't give a damn about it. I know you Jason. Whatever you're going through now, you don't need to go through it alone."

My eyes feel like they're cutting through the coffee table between us. I try to find my way to that mental place where I can find my clarity but I can't locate it. I'm starving without it.

Nothing to offer but blunted bones.

"Dear Kim," I whisper so softly that I can only think the words. "Please forgive me-."

Tommy stands up without warning, turning around, his hands moving up to support the back of his head as he walks off mumbling something to himself. Like a child sent to the corner, my head bows , the pen falling like my sword to its death.

He finally spins around, his arms lowering to his sides. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks and it's all there- disgust, anger and disappointment. Perhaps trying to psych a response, I instead remain silent as his eyes inflame at my apathy. "You are being nothing but a coward."

I finally stretch out to stand. "I don't want to fight with you-."

"No," he cuts me off, "You want to run away for another ten years."

He walks toward me and I remain still, my pulse only slightly negating my rigid stance.

"Don't just leave again," his voice softens miserably.

My note molds inside my closed hand. "I'm no good for anyone anymore, bro..."

There's barely any distance between us. "You were good enough for her," he counters temperately. "Self-defeat is no excuse for walking away from someone who is relying on you. Kim...Kim believes you're good enough."

"Tell her that I had to go..." my voice hurts. "Tell her...," I stop, shaking my head lazily. "Just give her this."

I extend my hand, not daring to look him in the eyes as I wait for him to take the note from my hand. I wait. Air inhales and exhales rhythmically through my nostrils, almost enough to make me gag. My arm starts to drop, before his stern hand pulls the paper from my vice.

"You're making a mistake," are the last words I hear, as I gather my wallet and keys and walk out of Kimberly's apartment.

* * *

If a patrol vehicle happened to pull my car over at this present moment, the officers would come to discover a shattered man with disheveled hair and no shirt, crying so pathetically that he can barely hold onto the steering wheel. Pure luck keeps my tires on the straight. I turn a corner and can barely recall if I even paused to check for traffic first.

My arrival into my motel room delivers to me the stagnant stench of vapid promises to myself that I broke as succinctly as I made them. I find cause enough to relieve the inflamed hollow of my throat with a quick guzzle of water, but it spills between my messy lips.

I angrily wipe at the dribble with my hand before I just as impulsively throw the bottle in the trash. Like an enraged animal I hold my stance, glancing around the room as though waiting for the confrontation.

My eyes sting and I lower my body weakly, finding the edge of my messy bed. I try to recall my letter to Kimberly, but instead all I can home in on is how frightfully sick I feel and that's just making me worse. I'm sure it's stress and probably even fatigue from the last few nights and oh yeah, the pathetic way in which I decided to abandon my friends and piss all over any dignity I thought I had retained since allowing them back in my life.

I've made such a fucking mess of everything. Don't even bother reasoning with me how selfish I'm acting because I'm already more than aware. I never intended for any of this to happen, but what the hell does intention have in comparison to action. I'm pretty damn sure I intended to both do and not do a lot of things that never came to be. I was even getting good at staying true to most. I've been receiving recurrent treatment in Angel Grove for how many years now? And I never intended to have any of them in my life again.

I'm messily throwing and tossing clothes into my suitcase.

Why did I have to go and return that stray photo album to Kimberly all those months ago? Because that's what the mere thought of _them_ makes me do. Even the small reminder of their faces has always been enough to dissolve any other intentions. I haven't been myself for years because of this fucked illness that has done nothing more than push and push and push and push me. Oh yeah, that's right, I'm supposed to feel dignified because at least I can say I fought as hard as I could.

Whack me over the head with as many of society's generalizations as you can think of. I'm special because I developed cancer and because it's terminal, it must mean that I'm this wonderful person who deserves everyone's praise of my amazing character. I'm sick so it must mean I'm strong. I've relapsed but there must be some magical cure I can take that'll make me as good as new again.

This unrelenting sickness is going to claim my life. But because of all of the above, minus the last point, it doesn't matter who I walk over or whose heart I crush on my way out, because I'm dying and that deserves automatic exclusion from being a decent human being.

Adam was right when he said I may as well be dead to them already with the way that I've been behaving. I may as well be dead to myself, because I've flailed so far past the point of giving up on myself, that I don't even know what the point is in trying anymore. For my entire life, I strived to be the best I could be for those that I loved. I was was dependable. _They_ were worth anything. Everything.

I clumsily collect my toiletries from the bathroom.

I took that photo album back to Kimberly because the day I said goodbye to Cindy was the day I simply didn't want to be in this life anymore. I wanted to find my way back. Back to the time before I was responsible for destroying peoples' happiness and instead was the one who would save them.

I wanted someone to look on me the way only Kimberly ever has.

Throwing on a clean shirt, I pause as I notice the soggy, bunched up ball that remains of the one I wore to Kimberly's last night. Wherever the stain remains, it's easily tucked away just as I managed to conceal my own mess up until now. But there's not even any point in trying to hide away anymore. Pretty soon...this will all be over.

I rip the zip of my suitcase closed before tossing my dirtied shirt in the bin.

--

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 21 "Tommy's Lie":**_

I swallow hard. "It's about Jason…there's a reason he left without being able to tell you," I stop, my hesitation rampant as I continue to watch the centers of her eyes before I make one of the hardest decisions in my life.

I make the choice to lie to her.

–

_Thank you again to everyone who has been reading this story and for those who have taken the time to leave me a review. I really do appreciate it! Not far to go with this story now...Lots to get in before then, so I hope you can continue to enjoy it. :) CS_

_--  
_


	21. Tommy's Lie

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 21 – Tommy's**** Lie**

I can see the sadness in her eyes. It's as fearsome as the churning in my gut and as debilitating as my choice of music station, the latter of which is the only one of those things that's rectifiable. I head toward the second couch in my living room and ease the volume knob as I pass the stereo, my eyes watching her from a careful distance.

The sound of bubbling water and the fan from the oven are all that overlap these deliberations. I purposely left the front door open to funnel some fresh air in from outside and although it's only a little after six, the chill in the air is almost too much of a contrast.

Kimberly's flat posture remains hidden under a knitted cardigan as her lips so delicately trace the outlines of the lyrics playing.

"Dinner won't be long," I mention, even though I know she's not particularly hungry.

Her eyes are almost sullen but do relieve me slightly as they lift to meet mine. "Thank you...for inviting me tonight Tommy," she tells me genuinely.

I decide to mention the obvious. "You don't look great-." I go to stop and scrunch up my face at myself. "I mean, you look great, you just-."

"Look like crap," she manages with an almost coy, closed-lip smile. "We don't need to sit here and pretend with each other. When you called on Tuesday, I wanted to say no...but then I realized that the reason I've been feeling so bummed lately is because I..."

I lean forward subtly, my elbows resting on the edges of my legs.

Her arms, which have been crowding her own lap, gently untwist. "I didn't want things to go back to how they were before," she finishes softly before adding: "Or worse...to not have anything at all."

I nod a little in agreement, before I gently flick my head toward the kitchen. "You want to join me in the kitchen?" I ask her.

Her chest heaves with a heavy exhale and she nods. I lead her over to the open space, not quite knowing what my plan was from here. I pass the calender on my way to the stove and it's just another reminder of that day, six weeks ago, that Jason walked out on my life again. The day he walked away from Kimberly's, leaving me holding onto the only scrap of evidence that he was even ever back in it.

For the past six weeks, life as we knew it went back to pretty much how it was half a year ago. I returned back to being Dr. O and staying up late watching cable and marking assignments. My daily jogs passed by as lazily as ever before. Don't ridicule me for feeling as though I lost the bounce in my step. It happens to the best of us from time to time.

Kimberly and I...well, we reverted back to being the same two people content to hide behind our telephones as we sit in silence just so we're not alone. We never talked about the night she said goodbye. We've barely mentioned Jason's name. If anything, we talk about work and have gone to the effort to call once a week instead of the previous once a month.

What hasn't returned to its previous state is that bubbly, excruciatingly impulsive headcase that was my former flame. Whilst not quite wallowing away in any obvious form of depressive behavior, Kimberly has been undeniably lackluster at best and silent at worse.

I hover over the stove more than necessary because I simply don't know how to approach any of this. She's probably tired. She looks tired. A discreet eye to her position at the breakfast bar is enough for me to gather her detachment.

"So how's things going with Adam?" I ask, suddenly deciding that's a safe place to anchor.

"Not bad considering," Kimberly replies, releasing a heavy breath. "We met up at lunch yesterday and did some brainstorming on when, where and how we envisage the charity function. Adam, of course, blew me away with all of his ideas...he is such a motivating person, and I mean, after spending eight years living with a life-coach, that's a big thing for me to say."

I flick pasta sauce off the end of the wooden spoon with a tap against the pot's rim. "Well, like I said last week, if there's anything I can do at all, let me know. It sounds like it's going to be huge."

"Adam hopes that it will be a great event to lead into the Christmas period...spike higher auction prices and take advantage of the festive season...I'm sorry Tommy...I'm all over the place at the moment."

"And here I was thinking you were just being Kim," I relieve her softly, smiling tightly. I reach for a bottle of red nearby, but she quickly shakes her head, the movement so sudden that I literally pull up a bit.

"Not for me, Tommy," she declines. "I think I'm hanging up my wine glass...I've been downing the wine lately almost as much as my coffee and it keeps reminding me of dad...I really don't want to drink my life away."

Her honesty now is raw and frankly unexpected and in respect to this, I put the bottle back, instead getting us some water from the fridge.

"I never said thank you for waiting for me that day."

My first sip of water heats behind my closed lips as I study her for a moment.

"The day that Jason left," she clarifies, so faintly I can barely make the words out.

The mere mention of his name is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I've had my fair share of battles and enemies in my lifetime, but none can even begin to steal my clarity as much as the man who I consider to be my best friend. I'm not even angry as much as I am numb; not nearly as sad as I am comatose.

How something so insignificant as a look...can break even the strongest.

"I wasn't going to leave and have you come back home to nothing," is all I say, not at all bitter, but with pure honesty.

She nods a little and her expression takes me back so many years. Whether it's the melancholy or something else entire; her fragility is on full-display and her face reeks the strained innocence of her youth.

It's been six weeks and I don't even know if she's crying inside over me or crying inside over him.

"I never even asked you...why you were there in the first place," she admits.

I settle against the bench behind me. "I was there for you," I tell her.

A lie. I'm not after brownie points here or another tally on my score. I'm well aware I pretty much blew that the night I practically shouted her out of my house. But what else can I tell her? At this point of time I'm wedged firmly between my allegiance to her and my loyalty to him.

And no...I didn't give her his note. So ask yourself, does that mean I chose him or her in the end? Well, I guess it depends on how you look at it...something frightened me about that morning I confronted Jason in Kimberly's apartment. If I was intimidated enough by the mere look in his eyes, than I can't begin to even touch on just how much I'd hate to know what he wrote in that letter. Maybe he simply wrote 'goodbye'. Or a million other words I have no right to know.

I didn't want to break her heart like that. I don't even know what the fuck happened in two days and what is mind-blowing to me is that Kimberly didn't even offer an explanation to me nor did I ask for one.

Only two days prior to that she had been the very potential in my life...the first gamble I had taken in such a long time. That was my fuck-up and whether or not she'd fucked-up before that, I still couldn't walk away despite knowing that she and Jason were sleeping together.

With Jason's note tucked in the pocket of my pants, I'd told her that he'd gone and that I didn't think he was coming back. The discussion was short lived. Oxygen seemed on short supply. I was awkward as hell and she was just as uncomfortable.

In the end, I couldn't give up on Jason. I couldn't hand over his shitty excuse of a goodbye because I wanted so badly to believe that he would come back.

"Tommy, I-."

We both turn to look to the front door as we hear a knock and in one sweeping motion I find myself looking from the door, to Hayley and then to Kimberly. Kimberly looks to me and Hayley follows suit until we're all looking at each other and I'm caught thinking of an explanation.

* * *

"Tommy...I didn't realize you had company."

Kimberly's face quickly veils over and I recognize it immediately, responding clumsily by moving past her and heading right for where Hayley remains at the door.

I release my held breath, my eyes sneaking quickly back over my shoulder. "It's not a good time," I whisper to her evenly.

Hayley is about as good at concealing her expressions as I am at wooing the opposite sex.

"Are you cooking for her?" she questions me, her eyes narrowing to the point where she almost appears ugly.

I slide my hand to her arm. "Not a good time," I reiterate.

She goes to speak and I intervene, practically pushing her back out the door and stumbling out after her onto the unlit porch.

"What are you doing, Tommy? One minute you're telling me you want her out of your life and the next you're inviting her over for another slumber party-."

"I-don't-need-this-now."

The words are low. Drawn out. Interconnected in every ounce of frustration that I want to throw at the rest of the world because I'm so damn tired of having to explain myself.

Her eyes soften knowingly, well aware that my tone is sharper than my bite.

"If you need me...call me," is all she says, as she turns and heads for her car, her keys rattling in the palm of her hand.

I release an almost regretful sigh and in a daze, head back inside, watching Kimberly carefully without watching her at all.

"Tommy...if this is a bad-."

"It's not a bad time," I cut her off, preempting her offer. I need to steady myself on whatever stable ground my kitchen bench can offer me. The muscles in my arms shake mercilessly as my head drops.

So close to surrender.

"What happened..." I croak out, without a question mark as though merely making a needless statement.

We're only an extended arm away from one and other and her breathing is not lost to me.

"Tommy, I never wanted to-."

"Not between you two," I intervene, my face raising sharply to stare through her. "What happened to Jason?"

Her brown eyes weight down beneath her brow, her lips budding in incomprehension. Her expressions and silence are the brick wall I'm pushing against and I push even harder; the lack of leniency my mind and body showed to me being thrown at her with all my might.

"You knew how I felt about him," my voice is pained and I'm creating such a lack of sense that it's almost breaking my own ears. "I knew he wasn't...himself. You knew."

"I don't know what's wrong with him," she whispers, holding her own. "I-."

"I get it Kim. You made a mistake. Then you made another mistake. And then you made another," I draw out within heated little breaths. "You make the mistakes and I make just as many. But...Jason. Why? Why can't he even look me in the damn eyes?"

"He probably feels uncomfortable, Tommy...with everything that's happened, I know he feels...regretful."

"Did he tell you that?"

Her eyes are sombre, her cheek bones highlighted as her face tips upwards before she squeezes her sight closed. Her eyes part once more and as I expect to be met with tears, I'm instead confronted with nothing more than brutal shame.

"He didn't tell me anything," she admits flatly. "I never asked him. I never asked him anything."

Kimberly's detached voice scolds me and I almost choke on my saliva as she finally begins to sob so softly; so unwillingly.

She is the lack of reason I detest so strongly in the heart that still longs for her.

"You sit here and cry...who the hell are you crying over, Kim?"

Her face is still hung as her manicured fingers diminish me from her view. She almost drunkenly lifts her head, her nose and eyes inflamed in crimsoned grief.

"I'm crying over me," her voice is stronger than before, her eyes wide in anger. "You invited me here knowing that it would hurt me and I drove all this damn way because like every other time I felt I offered you an explanation. But you don't want to hear what I have to say, Tommy, because the only person you care about is yourself."

I start to shake my head but she emotionally slaps me still. "I don't owe you an explanation for a choice I made with my own heart which doesn't belong to you!" she practically cries out, even though her eyes are instantaneously drying up. "I'm not perfect and I never will be. If you feel that you are, then you and I were never going to work."

I swallow a giant lump, my head twisting slightly as though absorbing the impact.

"I'm hurt more because I lost him," I confess faintly.

"You haven't lost him Tommy...Look, maybe there's things we don't know about his life at this point of time, but he's still there."

Who is she trying to convince?

Our faces level as we study each other silently, her eyes reaching for mine and my own reaching over her shoulder. From the location where music has continued to narrate a foggy background to our tireless breakdown, I can sense the heat of folded paper which rests in an otherwise empty drawer. Its smell smolders sickly toward me and rakes its way back into thought. Back into my mind.

It awaits the oxygen I've suffocated from it since I returned home from Angel Grove all those weeks ago.

"Let me ask him," she softly speaks up, her fingers aimlessly sliding the surface of the bench between us. "Tell me where Jason is...please, Tommy."

* * *

I've failed to register any of her words even though I heard them clear enough.

"I know you know where he is..." she continues, her eyes reaching for me. "Please...I just want to finish things properly."

Her words are suddenly jotting down in my head much like that silly little letter she sent me when we were kids. I am reading between her lines and collecting her meanings in between my palms. I can squeeze all the life from them and what I'm left with is her reliance on me to once again, surrender to her side.

I could tell her to go. I could tell her to leave and not bother calling me again because I'll avoid answering my phone. I could strangle her will. Or tell her to fuck off because she left me once before and I'm better than playing this stupid game of guilt and need.

And yet here I am...with every opportunity in the world to forget about her again...and I can't do it. Because I never forgot her in the first place. Not because I was so pathetically inadequate or unable to grow and seek beyond my emotional insecurities; but because before all of that, she was the girl who reached out and touched my hand before anyone else.

You need to understand that what Kimberly and Jason both are to me is the turning point that I longed for in my life as a shy adolescent desperate for purpose. They were my critical juncture. She was the girl who reached for my hand and Jason was the guy who held me up by the shoulder. You don't just forget something like that. Call me desperate and tell me I'm beyond pathetic, but I made my promise to Zordon that I would never forget that.

A promise like that lasts a lifetime.

"Everything is so out of control, Tommy...I know that I hurt you. I know that you don't need me and I know that none of this happened because I wrote that letter to you about Luke. All of this happened because of Jason...not because he caused it, but because he always gave you what you needed when no one else did. And because he gave me what I was looking for without making me feel like I was searching for it."

All I can think about is Jason's face the moment he opened Kimberly's apartment door and collided with my own.

"We don't need to keep doing this...so please- tell me where he went."

I clear my throat in helpless resistance. "Malua Bay...he lives in Malua Bay, just north of Potts Point."

She slides off the bar stool. "Thank you."

Her hand slides to clasp her bag as she quickly fusses with her cardigan, her attention so stolen from me that I am rendered delayed.

I can't let her go and find him. She'll find him and he'll ruin her...worse still; she'll find him and leave me once again waiting for her to return, just as I've waited for him.

I feel my heart suddenly thumping in my chest, Jason's unread letter screaming loudly somewhere in between all the pulsing in my head. My feet quicken and I hurry in autopilot, sidestepping furniture and everything else in my way.

"Kim, wait," I stammer, spinning her around.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes searching my own in an almost postponed fashion.

I release a tangled breath. "There's something I think you need to know…"

I realize my hand is still clinging to her arm and I gently release her, watching the daze in her eyes quickly transform to a vague confusion.

"What is it Tommy?"

I swallow hard. "It's about Jason…there's a reason he left without being able to tell you," I stop, my hesitation rampant as I continue to watch the centers of her eyes before I make one of the hardest decisions in my life.

I make the choice to lie to her. "He has somebody else in his life."

_--_

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 22 "Kimberly's Heartache"**_

My hands slip from his as I take a step back, my shoulders jerking up and down, up and down as I sob heavily and drag to my own agonizing grief. I let out an array of strangled noises, the world around me shut out as my face escapes into my awaiting hands and darkness consumes me.

–

_Okay, so as the author of this angst-fest, I'm well aware that all the characters are acting beyond emotionally unhinged. I find it extraordinary in "real life" when one person's breakdown can instrumentally infect those least expecting it. As someone who has experienced much grief in life, I can safely say I've been on both sides and it's heartbreaking when we feel such a loss of control. It's an unimaginable feeling when we're left with nothing to resort to but the very worst in us. I find myself focusing on these contemplations within this story...as much as I find myself wanting to kick the characters that I am in essence controlling with my storytelling, I write with faith that we find out footing in the end. :) And I hope that as straightforward as this seems, I can still manage to surprise. Thanks again for reading my story and thank you for everyone who continues to review. Not long to go now! ~CS~_

–


	22. Kimberly's Heartache

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 22 – Kimberly's Heartache**

I shouldn't be driving.

It feels like three-am and I feel like I am fumbling a few hours past too many drinks or wandering deliriously through a dream where nothing is real and actions mean nothing. A strange weather system delivers a mist of rain atop my windscreen. I literally stamp my open palm to its inside surface attempting to wipe it away, before passing headlights pain my eyes and I slump back in the driver's seat.

I grip the steering wheel desultorily and turn the radio in my car down after previously turning it up only ten minutes earlier. I thought that the noise would be a welcome distraction and yet that same diversion is proving irritating as I find myself suspended between thoughts of the past and the present.

For so many years I lived beneath the security blanket of a long-term relationship, completely reassured by a shared house, shared bills and too much shared baggage to just walk away from. I'm not at all pondering if the grass is greener here, but I am feeling this sick, heavy rock in my stomach right at this moment. It's as though I've suddenly realized that with the freedom I'd sought from routine, I've only made myself undeniably vulnerable. There are no longer any certainties in my life, except that Luke will never be a part of it and that every stupid decision made for it is no one else's responsibility but my own.

The windscreen wipers start to whine against the obviously bare glass and I flick them off almost agitated, ignoring my own reflection in the rearview mirror. What the hell was I thinking anyway? Why the hell must I learn every damn stupid lesson in human existence in such inexcusable ways?

I don't want to piece together the jigsaw puzzle suddenly put in front of me. Everything was laid out from the start, but as always, I was content to let the riddle reach a solution in its own good time, trusting that people at least have decency, conscious and morals. But how can I even talk? What decency, conscious or morals did I draw on when I made the decision to surrender to self-gratification in the face of simple loneliness.

I couldn't have gone wrong on a sure horse like Jason, could I? My unequivocal of sanctuaries and the most honorable person that I have ever known. Why does suddenly everything horrible make so much sense? I can't even rely on the foundations which have held me up for such a huge chunk of my life.

What hurts so much now is seeing how I overlooked Jason's blatant avoidance when it came to discussing his life and how I played to the easy option of relying on so much I once knew. What I had always known about this beautiful man was that his principles were beyond what this society could ever appreciate. No matter the dark circles that could threaten me, his very being was a safety net for me. How badly could I have mistaken this…my past is as unreliable now as my future feels.

I can see now that it makes sense why Jason kept his walls up, but for the life of me there's still too much gnawing at me. That night we last shared together at my apartment felt like so much more than a messy mistake or an act of neediness. I can only imagine that from your perspective, it probably seemed like such an impulsive gamble, but the way he held me that night...

That vision of he and I; sincere whispers, tangled limbs and blurred, mixed breaths feels possibly more real to me than even the dependable love I shared with Luke for so many years. Jason had looked me in the eyes. With those eyes. And I saw them. Those eyes.

There was nothing dishonest in their raw nakedness.

And just as I find myself pulling through a sleepy bend, a small sign reading '_Welcome to Malua Bay' _passing me by, I feel myself shift into trepidation. I'm dreading this moment to come. I want to know why Jason didn't tell me he was with someone else; why he blatantly lied to me on several occasions, and yet at the same time I don't want to hear it. I don't want to admit to myself or anyone else that I made such a terrible choice with my heart and my body and I don't want to have to lose the last bit of my past that I held as an unwavering truth until now.

I pull into the first gas station and settle my car not far from the entrance. There's not a single other car in sight and as I step into the shadows of the nocturne's canopy, I inhale the salty air and feel overwhelmed by such isolation. This place is so quiet that even the insects feel overwhelming by all comparisons.

Pushing through the glass doors of the service station, I walk past short statured shelves with a minimal selection of dry foods and sweets. A man with a hint of gray hair and a younger woman both turn to me as I approach the counter and I wonder if I'm the only customer they've had all day.

"How can we help you?" he asks, moving his weight onto his arms as he rests them on the counter before us.

"Um, I was wondering if you could tell me where Jason Scott lives?" I ask, my eyes wandering to a nearby stand of gum, before I realize how crazy I must sound.

I shake my head quickly, squinting against the tired roughness of my eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm a friend of his…I forgot to write down his address and I've never been here before," I explain, attempting to sound more human.

The woman smiles, fiddling with a sign in her hand. "Oh Jason went to Angel Grove," she tells me, resting on a stool behind her. "I don't know when he'll be back though, love. Do you have his cell number?"

I have his cell number. But I can't…call it. My adrenalin isn't going to extend to something as cold as a phone call and…

Suddenly I realize what she said and my head flinches a little in delayed reaction. Jason is in Angel Grove?

"I…" I have no idea what I'm thinking or saying. "I'm sorry…I didn't realize."

"If you like, I can call Geraldine, she's sure to be with him or-."

"No," I cut him off, not loudly or violently, but so automatically that my entire body freezes. "No," I calm myself. "It's okay. Thank you both so much for your help."

Turning away from the counter, my shoes scurry across the shiny laminate and it's by sheer luck I find the door without slipping over. I force my key into the ignition of my car and it protests with my jerky movements, forbidding me access until I throw it onto the floor at my feet and surrender to inevitable tears. I speak her name under my breath, shaking my head messily, turning my head to stare outside as I hear my cell phone ring.

I don't want to speak to anyone, but as I turn the screen to face me, I see John's name flash and I know it's something I can't ignore.

"John," I answer almost without sound.

"Kim, thank God, listen I can't hang around, but we're at the hospital and it looks like they're going to induce Car tonight..."

My body freezes. "W-wh-at?" I barely manage, my head quickly scrambling through odds and scenarios and-.

"She started bleeding again and I brought her in and they're having trouble getting it under control. If they don't do something drastic, Carmel could hemorrhage or..."

"But it's too soon for-." I quickly stop, realizing my poor judgement in words. "I know that they said she's further along that she originally thought, but..." I have no idea what to say.

"They still haven't made the final call, but they apparently have some special crib and machines and they...her bleeding is getting worse, Kim, and if they don't do something we could lose Olivia and Carmel-."

"John, it's okay," I try to catch him, my own heart already rushing. "It's going to be okay, I'll be there…just give me an hour."

* * *

Because I've tagged along to various check-ups and false alarms throughout Carmel's pregnancy, I don't have a hard time finding my way to the maternity ward in Angel Grove Memorial hospital once I arrive back to town. The drive from Malua Bay to here had been shockingly boring, with maybe only three cars passing me the entire way, leaving the road mostly shrouded in darkness. My radio reception flunked out within ten minutes and I felt too paralyzed to think of anything at all, so all I could focus on was nothing.

It felt too dirty to cry tears when my best friend could lose her dreams, her baby and possibly her own life tonight, and all I wanted to sook over was the fact that I laid in bed with a guy who never bothered to tell me he belonged to someone else.

Entering through the after hour's entrance, I scurry down a hall in the maternity ward, agitated by the lack of human presence. It's almost as though I'm in one of those dreams where you're the only person alive. I really need to find a nurse.

"Oh, excuse me!" I call out, waving my hand as I spot an older lady around the corner.

The nurse turns around to face me, her elderly features soft. "Can I help you?"

I nod, clearing my parched throat. "I'm looking for my friend, Carmel Morrissey, her husband called about an hour ago to tell me she might be having her baby," I recite anxiously. "I was hoping you know where I could find them."

The nurse touches my hand, her eyes lighting up. "Your friend is in theater at the moment and from what I know, both she and baby are doing well; but it could be some time until you're able to see them...you might be best to go home, get some rest and I can have one of the midwives on duty give you a call when your friend is out of recovery."

I shake my head. "No, I want to be here for them," I admit, grimacing somewhat as I feel my stomach gurgle, reminding me that I need to eat.

Everything feels so surreal and I can't shake this feeling as I try not to pace and attempt not to cry. This lack of self-control is making me sick. I reside to filling up some time by buying a cup of coffee from a vending machine and sitting in the empty waiting room. When my stomach refuses to give up, I head off and discover a machine back out in the main hall, but when I go to grab some change from my purse, I realize it's not in my bag.

"Great," I mumble under my breath, pacing meekly in the direction of an exit. The contents of my bag seem to have the tendency to roll out and scatter on the floor of my car on a frequent basis.

I have a headache that is aching the crap out of everything. I feel like absolute hell, like maybe I'm coming down with a cold. That's going to my excuse when I finally see John, anyway. I couldn't hate myself any more at this moment. I feel like I'm screaming for anybody and there's nobody left. Maybe the person I should be screaming for is myself...or at myself, to be more precise.

I reluctantly take an exit out into the car park that's probably the furthest point away from where I parked my car. There's nowhere near enough lights and with my luck, some idiot will probably try to mug me of my synthetic leather bag, car keys and sunglasses.

I spot a man in the distance, walking away from me and for some reason I instantly feel my chest tighten with irrational fear. Quickening my steps, I almost shuffle away to deliberately separate us, until I recognize his face in a strangely positioned street light.

"Jason?"

He turns to look at me, his face not moving as I feel a hard look grip my expression. I pace toward him, but keep a small distance between us.

"What are you doing here?" he asks almost casually, his head moving back into the shadows.

"Carmel's in labor," I reply breathlessly, before I abruptly recall this isn't just an ordinary, everyday meeting.

All my thoughts rush for my mouth to spill out at once, but I try it once at a time. "Who's Geraldine?" I whisper, taking another aimless step forward.

Jason moves back under the dim stream of light and I'm confused as to why he looks so distracted and so...different. "You've been speaking to Tommy," he guesses, his posture mute, as though only half of him is awake.

I feel my body flare with his meek, unsatisfying response and all of a sudden I find myself gesturing with my arms. "Why didn't you tell me you were with somebody else?" I accuse. "I would have understood! But instead you sleep with me and then just leave without saying a word?"

He shuffles, his eyes squeezing me away. "I thought my note...I...I never wanted to hurt you Kim," he responds with sudden emotion.

I shake my head as he steps toward me. "You persuaded me to give up on Tommy-."

"I only wanted you to know that you are better than all of this- you came to me and asked me and I told you what I thought!" he cuts me off. "You have lost the relationship that created and formed so much of who you are now and whatever was going on with you and Tommy, it can't come before what you need to do for yourself now that Luke is gone. You are better than that," he practically sputters. "You don't need someone in your life to make you whole!"

My face twists. "How can you possibly give advice on anything when you have no pride in your own life? You don't even seem to care!" I snap, before I clench the handles of my bag and spin around, storming off toward my car.

The darkness becomes awashed in my own, angry tears as I feel his hand grab my arm and pull me around. I move to push his arm away, but I stop as I notice the look on his face, his sadness mirroring mine.

"What do you want?" my voice cracks through tears.

"There's no one else in my life, Kim," Jason trembles, his voice straining. "Cindy Kearns was one of the closest friends I've ever known, and she passed away after a long and painful battle with cancer…Geraldine is her mother. I couldn't talk about Cindy, because to even mention her name is to remind myself of my own situation…"

I feel the weight in my legs almost collapse from inside, my brain not prepared for the manner in which Jason's face twists and turns, his hands gnawing at his skin, his eyes intense with almost crazed tears.

I can only look at him and ask: "Jason, what's wrong?"

* * *

As the sound of our tepid steps alternate, clicking intrusively up the empty hospital corridor, my eyes remain focused ahead on nothingness, as the surroundings pass us by in slow motion. I am nothing more than a frightened little girl, unable to move if it weren't for the comfort offered by his hand wrapped protectively around mine. Even still, I am not ready for this lonely walk and I'm not prepared to hear what he is telling me, even though I know that now is the time where I have to be strong for him.

Passing around a bend in the lengthy hall, Jason acknowledges two nurses with the nod of his head as we pass by their station.

"Are you feeling all right, Mr. Scott?" one of them asks.

I can only stare as the brief exchange unfolds before me, words slipping between my ears so numbly I can't hear them, all except for the fact that it's obvious Jason is at a disturbing peace in this dark place. The hospital is a home for him, a box where he has been hiding for so many months and years, and I can't take it, can't deal with what he has told me, because I shouldn't be the one crying.

It's well outside visiting hours, but I feel his hand pull me along as we continue forward, stopping as we reach an empty waiting area nearby. I think he's settled me into a chair, but I can't really tell, because my head isn't straight, my vision is blurry and I am almost too ashamed to look at him.

God, I can't even breathe…

"I'm so sorry." I think I've croaked it out thirty times since we left the car park and made our way back into the hospital, hand-in-hand.

I feel a warm breath stir my ear, the sensation of fresh moisture mingling with my own tears as I realize our arms are wrapped around each other and I'm crying…he's crying, too.

And for the first time in my life, I feel like there is no hope in the world around us, certainly not if Jason Scott is so defeated that he can't contain his own grief.

He pulls back, his hands moving to collect mine and I stare at him, my final tears making their way down my cheeks as I sniffle loudly.

"Man, this is hard," he murmurs huskily, his voice wretchedly dreary.

I try to smile, but can't. Oh God, he's dying. He's dying.

"Here," he says, as though offering me something, but instead guides me into his arms and I nuzzle my blotchy face into the cool touch of his shirt.

"I have Lymphoma, which is a type of blood cancer," his words muffle and feel like the distant narration of a terrible dream. "I have had treatment for it and it worked for a good while, but then I had a relapse and I didn't respond so well to treatment after that."

My face has turned without my notice, his arm almost a noose as I feel myself sliding into despair against his body. I struggle to move from him, somehow finding my balance enough to gaze desolately into his eyes.

"What does that mean?" I whisper in an almost delayed daze. "That you didn't respond so well to treatment?"

"When I relapsed Kim, I went to hospital to start some more chemotherapy and while I was there, I met Cindy who had a far more aggressive cancer than I did…she was one of those people who were just so determined to live out her life without surrendering to the darkness of hospitals…her illness robbed her of most of her vision. She could barely see and yet you want to know something, Kim? She saw so much that I didn't see."

My lips tic and fidget into barely formed words as I scurry to speak and yet all I can manage is to almost heave with each laden breath.

His eyes close so deliberately for a moment as he reaches to touch my cheek and I move to soothe his hand with the comfort of my own.

"Why didn't you tell us?" is all I can whisper, my eyes failing again against the weight of tears. "Wh-."

"I'm sorry Kim…I never wanted to hurt you, I just…I was scared. I was scared."

I shakily take his hand from my cheek and clasp it firmly between us. "It's going to be okay," my voice finds sound easier toward the end of my declaration. "It's going to be okay and you're going to be fine, Jason, I promise you, I'll be here for you, we all will be."

The uncomfortable fluorescent lights from above do nothing to pale the sad truth in his eyes and for me, it's like seeing everything in him that I failed to see until this meeting tonight.

"I'm terminal, Kim-."

My hands slip from his as I take a step back, my shoulders jerking up and down, up and down as I sob heavily and drag to my own agonizing grief. I let out an array of strangled noises, the world around me shut out as my face escapes into my awaiting hands and darkness consumes me.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 23 "Jason's Release"**_

Within a moment like this, you become lost to the notion of reality and levitate outside of your body. This is a place where there's no such thing as alive or dead. The touch of her is almost from inside of me...a part of me. I'm lost to her in this final surrender, it feels.

–

_Thank you for the reviews! I should remember to be a polite young lady and shout a thanks more often than I do! Hopefully I can keep these frequent updates up. Happy days :) CS_

--


	23. Jason's Release

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 23 – Jason's Release**

Before I even make a conscious move to pull Kimberly's trembling frame inside of my own, she is already there. I feel it quivering against me now, the sound of tears hollowing out my ears until with a sudden movement, I realize that those very tears are actually my own.

I move away a little, unable to withstand my automatic embarrassment. To be in a position where I could come to cry is a statement enough. At the very same time, everything inside of me is so used to suffocating such grief that I almost have no ability to preempt my own behavior now.

Kimberly's eyes' are still lit in their liquid curtains and my reflection stands strong as the back of her hand hovers over my cheek.

"Don't be sorry," she whispers. Perhaps only an attempt to read my agonized mind or quite possibly I apologized somewhere in between strangled sobs and somehow misplaced that memory.

Her lips look dry and I can't find my mind. I want to shield and moisten them with my own. I feel clumsy. I am partially stunned that she even recognized me, let alone when I was camouflaged by the ambiguity of night. It feels like it's been weeks since I even looked at my own reflection. I've had no need to shave, no longing to hide my sickly scaffolding and no desire to present myself to the day as though I'm anything more than this.

I am now caught in this stifling absurdity. I must have pictured her running away from me so many times. I forced myself to imagine the agony of her abandonment when she found out the truth of my illness. My walls were well built and heavily insulated. It had been the easiest suffering to keep her away. Easier to never have her near than have her near and never be able to keep her.

Yet now all I want her to do is stay; to come back to me. My exhaustion dulls to this incredible relief, just to know that I don't need to hide from her anymore.

She hasn't run away yet...

"What are you thinking?" she whispers.

I clear my throat. The sensation of permanent thirst angers in its inflamed core. "I d-n…" I let out a laugh that's not really so much of a laugh as it is a light scoff. No humor but only pity at my own disabled attempt at English. "I was thinking-."

A muffled chiming sounds and air breaks between us as Kimberly dazedly glances around, before digging into her purse.

"God, I am so sorry," she almost moans, pulling her cell to her ear and tipping her head apologetically.

I turn from her for a moment, pulling uncomfortably at the sides of my eyes as I attempt to regain my composure during this interval. The call is brief and as quickly as I manage to lubricate my throat with saliva and steady my steps, she speaks out my name.

"Carmel's had a baby girl and she's okay and the baby, her name is Olivia, she's stable for now," Kimberly rambles uncontrollably, her emotion thick as tiny smiles pitter-pat amongst her words. "I was…so worried that something would go wrong…"

I reach out for her arm, my thumb stroking it as she drops her phone back in her bag and blows air between her lips.

"You should go and see her," I tell her with a small smile.

She crosses her arms around her, biting her lip. "Come with me," she suggests hopefully.

My eyes trace down her for a moment before I shake my head gently. To swallow my pride and admit yet another failing in me is easily lost as I realize I am exhausted well beyond emotionally, and literally to the point where my body feels physically sick.

"I would love to stay with you," my voice is soft. "But I think I'm gonna take off and get back home…get some rest."

"But you shouldn't be driving if you're not well," she points out glumly, her lips pouting.

I smile tightly and lopsidedly. "I'll be okay, I promise," I assure her, kissing her on the forehead, before finding her lips ever so briefly. They fail to seal and instead relax against her own loosely, my nose delicately nuzzling hers as I reluctantly pull away. "I'm staying at my parents' in the guest room downstairs…but look, you should…go…go see Carmel, and we'll talk later."

Kimberly's hand slips from mine and she smiles at me sadly, before I watch her turn away from me. The corridor evaporates her from sight and before I give into the temptation to take after her, I trail away in the opposite direction unable to comprehend what just took place.

* * *

A gentle reminder stirs me woozily from the deepest pits of dreams and nightmares. Through thick willows of blanketed dark, it's a tune to me and I feel myself murmur to it groggily. I feel resistant to its provocation.

Sleep feels like the easiest surrender.

Yet it calls again. A knock. My eyes snap to attention while my ears strip the sound down to each unique note, caressing them in the gentle sing-a-long of my own voice.

I slide messily from the place where I fell asleep on top of my covers. The digital clock nearby flashes just past three-am and my tongue rolls against a sickly taste that lacquers the core of my mouth. I forget where I am heading, treading clumsily through the guest bedroom as I search for the lonely window.

Peeling back the heavy curtain, her eyes are heavy stones against the contrast of her porcelain skin.

"It's only me," Kimberly mouths the obvious, as I fumble with the lock of the window, my actions automated and careless.

Air bursts through its opening crevice as I shove it upward, her hands shakily reaching for my forearms.

"I'm sorry, I know it's late," she whispers, but I quickly shake my head, finding my bearings as I carefully help her over the window pane.

The motion is unglamorous, thanks wholeheartedly to our matching turbulence and she collides into my awaiting arms, my chest pillowing the softness of her turned cheek. I hold her close which feels difficult amongst the tiny shivers that catch my body.

"Take a seat," I ease her gently in the direction of my bed, fumbling to close the window once more before searching for the lamp.

Dirty light overpowers the obscurity of night, both of us retracting slightly by its intrusion. I carry my body heavily to where she's seated on the edge of the bed, my hand finding her leg as I settle beside her.

Kimberly's hand reaches for me and coaxes my face her way with its cool touch.

"I couldn't even think about going home," she says in simple sadness, profound emotion beyond her reach. Her nostrils flicker a little as she fights within herself. "I didn't know what else to do."

My head feels fucking terrible and I can't kill it any longer, so I instead coerce her down with me. I lower myself back on the bed, my head finding a pillow before I lead her to mold the side of my body.

The night screams silence from outside.

"Tell me this is a dream," Kimberly whispers, as my fingers busy themselves in her hair.

"A nightmare maybe..." I murmur. "Until you came and found me and maybe then...only then...it became a dream."

She twists around, propping her upper body onto her elbows. Her breaths become evidently separate and drawn until her lips part to speak and then quickly give way.

Her face drops and I catch it with my palms, massaging her cheeks with my thumbs. "Kim, listen to me," I whisper to her, holding her face only inches from mine. Lamp light sneaks through her tangled hair which falls all around us like a wall.

We're cocooned in our intermingled heat.

I whisper 'Shh', my fingers continuing to trace circles as I feel a lone tear fall to the death of my face beneath.

"Please..." I'm begging faintly. "Please don't cry."

Within a moment like this, you become lost to the notion of reality and levitate outside of your body. This is a place where there's no such thing as alive or dead. The touch of her is almost from inside of me...a part of me. I'm lost to her in this final surrender, it feels.

"Listen," I try to speak. "We are here...you and I."

My lips find hers, tantalized in her subtle saltiness.

"I was lost until you came and found me, Kim..."

"I didn't know you were missing all this time," she whispers, sniffing softly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I've got a good doctor. He's one of the best...but, Kim, I-."

"Don't say it," she pains out, burying her face into my chest. Her voice is now muffled. "Tell me anything but that."

I think for a moment. My eyes feel lazy in consumption but I feel at this strange peace.

"I regretted going to the Peace Conference," I say out of nowhere, in the voice of a man reading a story book. "I remember how many people told me I would discover all these amazing things and that I would achieve so much. But those same people didn't know I was a power ranger..."

"And that alone was so much more than anyone could comprehend," she whispers, as though finishing my sentence and I nod.

"I really lost my way. I think I suffered a lot because nothing could compare to those years."

She murmurs with understanding, her face tilting upwards slightly. "I thought I knew what I wanted but the moment I was actually free enough to make some real decisions, I wasn't as free as I thought. Ordinary life frightened the hell out of me...all the things I always thought I'd want suddenly terrified me..." her voice lowers and vanishes in her internal distraction.

Silence passes for only a moment. "I was totally addicted to shopping," she continues randomly and I smile a smile that almost sounds as a chuckle. "I was," she reiterates, twisting slightly so her eyes can gaze toward mine. "I would lie to Luke about how much credit card debt I had. He thought I only owed about three and a half thousand...try almost eight..."

"Eight grand on shoes?" I ask in almost horror.

"Everything and anything," her voice responds fondly. "Luke was neurotic about all sorts of things and the last thing I wanted was feeling as though he was right about something."

"I had a one-night stand once...about five years ago," I mention. "The one and only time. She was celebrating her thirtieth birthday. That was the last time I had been with anyone intimately. Not by choice..."

Now it's her turn. "I still suffer from those terrible stomach cramps like I did back when I was training. At one stage, my mom thought I was bulimic or on laxatives or something. I wasn't, of course, but I felt incredibly guilty because there was one time...only once...where I actually tried to make myself sick. I must have tried to stick my fingers down my throat for twenty minutes and the most that came up was a bunch of spit and drool," she finishes sourly, "I have no idea what possessed me to do it."

Silence settles until I half-sigh and she releases an almost yawn. My arm tightens around her. Just a little. She responds by tracing her fingers on my other arm, as though practicing calligraphy.

"Do you want me to turn the light off?"

Kimberly briskly nods and I lean over her to flick the switch. The sudden omission of light is like the end of it all. The all consuming moment where the world could quite possibly be non-existent.

Only right now...she is with me. I'm not lying here, comatose to the hilt from prescription sleeping pills or wide-awake in a self-induced insomnia. I'm not here alone. Even wrapped-up in the abyss of darkness, it's impossible for me to pretend that the world is no more.

"Do you ever get scared?"

My chest rises and falls several times before I reply. "I'm scared of the dark..."

She doesn't say anything right away and it's because of this that I can tell she either thinks I've lost my marbles or is too afraid of hurting my feelings.

I wriggle a little to ease my position, Kimberly's weight remaining anchored to my side. "Well...not scared...but I hate the dark because I feel like when it's dark, it's too easy for me to imagine...not being here."

Her grip clutches at me and in a cursory action, I reach for her and interlock my fingers with hers.

"Do you..." my sentence breaks as I realize how shaken I am. "...ever get scared?"

Her whisper is stark.

"All the time."

I swallow. "What are you afraid of?" I ask her.

"I'm scared to accept the mistakes that I've made...I'm scared that when people go that they won't...come back," with that, her voice pains, "I'm incredibly scared of being on my own. When I'm at home, I feel so anxious and I can never relax. I pathetically cling to the people around me just so I don't have to deal with myself."

My eyes are soothed as my eyelids shield them from the night.

"You sound so frightened to me..." I whisper deeply, although my words feel airy.

Touch is the overwhelming sense in our cloak of darkness and I feel her weight shift slightly. Her scent is just there. My drowsiness is becoming a contest.

"I..." her voice wavers. "We need to tell Tommy...he's been so worried about you."

_Tommy..._

My pain swells slightly. Not in a physical sense, but utterly emotionally. Holding my inability to express this is my incapacitating fatigue. My body feels impossibly heavy.

"...Jase?"

"Mmm," I murmur barely coherently.

I scantily feel her crawl up my arm, her face burying into the side of my neck. "I won't leave you..."

I'm too tired to ask if she's referring to tonight or forever from here...

Darkness be my friend...

* * *

My fingers are spread, failing suction pads just barley suspending the weight of my heaving body. Darkness feels long ago, but I find it again without protest, as my eyes block out the sickness that is circling down the drain between my feet.

The shower's steam is overwhelming and yet I shake as though I'm on ice. The only thing I feel aware enough of, is that if I attempt to move my hands from their position sprawled on the glass, that I will very likely crash to the vomit below.

I hear a knock and I hear a voice, but I can't place whether it is Kimberly or Jeremy. I groan out in response, hoping my strained gurgle produced something legible as I twist and safely collapse to the tiles.

My dignity is not even existent at this point.

As the shower screen opens, sweltering heat expels from its violent movement, so suddenly that tears sting in the corner of my eyes.

"Jase..."

I rub my face which makes little difference since everything is wet. "I didn't want to wake you," I tell her, finally fixing my eyes her way.

From where Kimberly's crouched at the entrance of the shower, her hair spates messily over her shoulders while the skin of her face is almost sallow; her touch is hesitant.

"Jason, you've been in here for over an hour and you had the door locked. I ended up getting a butter knife and undoing the lock myself so I could get in here..." she frowns, but more so out of concern. "I heard you vomiting."

Water pools in the shallow curve above my lip and I lick at it fleetingly. "I'll be okay," is all I say, as I close my eyes for a moment.

"Maybe we should get you dried off and back in to bed."

There's something in the way that she suggests this, that torments me more than the stomach cramps that have finally subsided. My head ticks in reverse, forcing the clock backward as I recall this routine. Only how is it that I'm suddenly the sick one? The one who's slumped lifeless on the cold ground, unbeknownst that I have fallen apart while somebody else is left scrambling to pick up the pieces.

"I'm o-."

I feel her hands form a gentle case around the sides of my face. "You're not okay," her words are drowned slightly by the shower, as her forehead rests tenderly against mine. "Let me help you."

What happens after this is partially numbed out, thanks considerably to the fact that I'm delayed in my thought processes. It could have been something from the depths of a dream. I'm helpless to resist her and don't want to. The sensation of soft toweling nuzzling over my skin is enough to almost console me to sleep but by the time I recognize that I am in fact back in bed, I'm re-stirred to the point where I almost panic.

"Jase, just relax," Kimberly pushes her palm gently into my chest, forcing me back down.

"How did you..." I glance around the room for a moment. "How did you get me here?"

Her smile is tight and I can't tell whether it's in amusement at my daze or some poor attempt at trying to lighten the mood. "Jase, do you know when your parents are getting back from Ashburn?"

I quickly frown. "How do you know my parents are in Ashburn?"

"Your brother told me," she replies, licking her lips. She seems so out of focus to me.

"Where is Jeremy?" I ask her, still resiting her somewhat as I attempt to prop myself up. The sheets slip over my bare skin while her hands continue to fuss without any obvious task.

"He wants to take you to the hospital..."

The previously pleasant sensation of silk abruptly crawls with the tingling up my spine and in one severe movement, I sit up, my hands reaching for her.

"I don't need to go to the hospital."

Her eyes dash desperately away from me. "Jason, you look really sick," her words are for me, but her eyes remain everywhere else but. "I could hear you from down the hall...it terrified me."

My breathing cycles in a concentrated matter.

"Can I get you a glass of-."

"No," I abruptly cut her off, twisting and maneuvering myself so my legs find the floor at the side of the bed. The blanket Kimberly had carefully laid over me becomes messily discarded and I obliviously walk over to the spare chair, collecting some clothes and pulling them on hastily.

I hear her sigh deliberately. "What's wrong?"

My back remains turned to her and the best I can come up with is a sigh of my own. I reluctantly sit in the the chair, my head falling into my hands as I do everything in my power to place my words cautiously.

"I don't want you involved..."

"Jason, no matter how you feel at this moment, you can't ask me not to be involved when I already am-."

"You don't understand," I respond so fiercely, that I almost shoot up from my seat. "I don't want you to suffer because of me, Kim – I know what that's like. I made a promise to care for someone and when she died, it left me with nothing. I'm I," my pitch and tempo is a nauseating ensemble of phlegm and strain. "I can take care of myself, I-."

Her tongue doesn't cut me off and instead my argument is split to the bone as I watch her slender frame begin to rock, her head shaking numbly.

"You can't push people away like that...I'm here because I want to be, not because I owe you anything."

I wish she would stop talking. She's not the least bit angry and I'm not the least bit strong enough, but something is going seriously haywire with my vision.

My arms inflame at the sudden clamping that drives into their sides, and it's the only sensation I can pin-point as I hear her scream my name.

–

**To Be Continued**

_**Teaser for Chapter 24 "Tommy's Message"**_

"I'm not following, what's wrong with Jason?" I ask, my feet almost subconsciously relocating me around the corner.

–

_Thanks again for the reviews :) What's my aim as far as where posting this story is concerned? I would hope that you'll have a completed story by the end of May...and the even more hopeful side of me within the next month. :D Happy days ~ CS_

–


	24. Tommy's Message

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 24 – Tommy's Message**

My house is too quiet.

Quiet's not even the definition for this dense void that hollows out every corner and space of ceiling. The silence casts almost a physical form, and yet it's empty of everything but myself. My breathing is soundless and I couldn't care less for empty comfort of TV. I'm talking through to myself the mistakes of yesterday, and yet the best of my argument falls to the remnants of nonexistent foundation.

Such is the absence of life.

It's just before ten and as far as mornings go, it's been much the same as the majority that have preceded it as of late. Don't begin to write this down to a routine of any sort, because I think the point is that I don't have anything that resembles consistency in my life at the moment. Even these conscious dictations to you feel somewhat stale. Are you as tired of this self-tyranny as I am?

Morning clarity bit me on the ass and ripped me a new one. The dawning clouds were all sitting as pretty as a postcard framed in my window and what more could I do but thank my bleating heart wholeheartedly for my rash stupidity. I can't even connect with my emotions enough to connect with that better part of me I'm so desperately seeking right now.

The fact is…I was pitiful enough to excuse my inexcusable lie to Kimberly last night because some part of me reasoned that it was for the best. Even now I cringe. The best for who exactly? She still ran off in pursuit of Jason and I'm left sitting here wondering why she didn't call me last night when she promised me she would.

The simple fact is, that whether or not I've simply fallen victim to circumstances outside of Kimberly's control, I'm consciously shitting all over the lives of people who haven't meant a thing to me in such a long time. I'm actively seeking Kimberly's attention because I'm beyond pissed at myself for pursuing it in the first place and in turn, it's doing nothing but leaving me starving and moping around looking like a fool.

I tried to be understanding. I tried to follow my heart. I tried not to shut off. I tried not to overreact. I tried to give multiple chances. I tried so many damn things except the only thing I should have tried and that was to just walk away. Take a step back and admit that clearly…sometimes I reach a point where people who once brought the best out of me can equally bring out the very worst.

The temperature of my coffee is on par with lukewarm which is the surest testimony to how long I've been sitting here thinking over this crap. I reluctantly inhale a begrudged sip, my eyes heading north as my front door opens without even a knock.

Kira appears only half-exposed, as though waiting for me to turn her away.

"Kira," I acknowledge.

"Hey Dr. O," she responds, still remaining in the doorway. "I was actually looking for Hayley."

This coffee tastes terrible. "I'm sorry Kira, I don't know where she is," I tell her honestly, trying my best not to settle into some awkward stance.

"Oh...okay," her voice is distant and yet she finally strolls in, flicking the door closed behind her before walking over to the kitchen, "So how did dinner go last night?"

This bench is between us and it's been a reliable Berlin Wall on more than several occasions this year. I'm taken aback by Kira's question, and yet it requires no further clarification as I know damn well what she's referring to.

"I was at Hayley's last night when she got back from here," she suddenly explains, her fingers rasping on the bench's surface. She chews her lip a little. "So let me take a guess it didn't go so well?"

I try not to sigh.

Failing this, I sigh rather loudly and without restraint. "I really don't think this is something I should be talking about with you," I avoid, biting back on my own bitterness so as to not scold her.

Kira's expression is about as controlled as my voice which was as exposing as the mannerisms in which I can barely look at her. "So, you're just going to stand around here and what? Watch your life pass you by?"

"That's enough, Kira," I warn her. "This doesn't involve you."

"No, you're right – because we're not rangers anymore and you're not my teacher, we should cease all communication," she retorts, her tone tart with sarcasm.

"You know I don't mean that..."

"What are we supposed to think? It's all that mattered to you, right?" she points out resentfully. "Stupid dinosaurs and ranger powers. Conner's played in three huge games in town and you haven't gone to one. You've only been to like one of my gigs this year..."

I assume she's going to continue on her verbal rampage of my character, but her argument lays dormant as I slowly move from position and pour what's left in my mug down the sink. I watch its tarry remnants stain the steel and reek up to my nostrils, before I decide on a desirable replacement.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask her, fetching some things from the fridge.

By the time I am looking back at Kira, I can sense her brief disapproval of me has languished considerably. She nods a thanks and I pour us both a glass, leading her over to the dining room table.

She sits opposite me, her eyes downcast in obvious embarrassment. "I'm sorry for going nuts at you," she apologizes quietly.

My lips tighten, but I manage to gently kick her leg when she continues to look away from me.

Kira rests her elbow on the table, propping her chin on her hand. Her long hair tickles the surface of the table as her doe eyes languish despondently. "It just feels like lately you haven't been here at all..."

I can't exactly argue with that, even though it would be beyond frustrating to admit it. I shuffle uncomfortably with this thought. "I'm sorry you feel that way," I tell her directly. "I thought for a little while that maybe I had a place outside of this place but..." I shake my head to myself. "It wasn't meant to be."

Kira's lips' shift tightly to one side as she offers me a dose of sympathy. "I thought you loved your life here?" she asks me gently.

I nod, and even though it probably looks pretty damn halfhearted, I'm not intending it to be. "Sometimes you get to a point where a risk to change even what you think you love is worth it if you can possibly find out for sure," I explain softly, unable to steady my gaze for very long. "That doesn't mean that I don't...love my life here."

Silence settles, before she quickly takes a sip of her drink and I follow suit with my own.

"See, the thing is Kira; sometimes we become comfortable in our lives well past the point where we do the things we do because we love them. I dedicated a lot of my years to work and now that we've done that and you guys are growing up and moving on, sometimes I feel like maybe it's my time to grow up a bit and move on as well."

Her narrow shoulders slump forward a little as she restlessly shifts forward in her chair.

"Well, I don't think that's a bad thing," she admits, shrugging quickly. "You always seemed to do stuff because you had to and maybe not because you wanted to."

She continues to talk after this and it's as I'm watching her speak that I drift into the space where I can recall exactly why I love these kids so much. For their honesty, you could never possibly doubt them and yet for their ability to try to step up and take the role of carer is truly endearing.

"I really want to sing...if I didn't have music in my life, then I can't help but think that I wouldn't have anything else. I know it's not really the same as all that ranger stuff that you've done," she slows down for a moment. "But it's the thing I love and what makes me comfortable...maybe one day, it won't be enough for me anymore, but I could see how if music is all I do, I wouldn't know where else to turn."

Her eyes are ticking through heavy, revolving thoughts.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but is that the reason why you are trying to go after Kimberly even though she left you so long ago, anyway?"

The question stings a little and my typical reaction would be to ineptly blow her off and probably send her home after creating an excuse that I have something I need to do. Thanks solely to her tranquil presence and my weakness at the hands of my own self, I instead attempt to grab a response.

I swallow discreetly. "I don't know," I'm being honest. "I think Kimberly was my music...a sentimental song that I never fully got out of my head even though I hadn't heard it in so many years."

Kira's face drops a little, before her body shrugs in one big movement. "That was extremely deep Dr. O," she lets out in a big breath.

I shrug a little myself, taking a somewhat more satisfied sip from my glass.

"Well I guess...if it isn't going to work between you and her, then maybe you can try dating other women? I mean, you are kinda a recluse, but I'm sure there are plenty of other women out there who would find you a good catch."

I smile very briefly despite myself, but before I can reply, the phone rings. I almost automatically move to retrieve it but I instead remain seated, not even slightly oblivious to Kira's perplexed expression.

"Ah...you going to get that?"

I shake my head, telling her the machine will get it, just as I hear my familiar message play its delivery.

"I'll go get it if it's Hayley," Kira offers, before a different voice begins to leave a message. "Or not..."

"_Tommy...it's Kim, um are you there?"_

I'm sure half of myself is yanking me off my chair at this very moment, but the other half is either too anxious by the sound of her voice or too reluctant to face the music.

"_Okay...okay, so you're not screening. Listen, I know I should have called you sooner, but everything has been really full-on...and...look I know it's a lot to ask, but I really need to see you. I know you have work tomorrow, but I really need to talk to you and...*sighs* Please just call me."_

I can hear the phone click and I watch as Kira's eyebrows' remain perched up high.

"That sounded really important; maybe you should call her back?"

I consider my options before I slowly shake my head. "It's okay..." I assure her quietly in a distant place. "I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait."

* * *

'_This footage shows the fanning honeybee as it exposes its Nasonov gland, releasing pheromones to entice the swarm into an empty hive. This gland is present in the white tip of…'_

My attention warbles awkwardly as I feel my chair swing suddenly out of control. My feet hit the floor as I hastily attempt to correct my balance, my face discreetly numbing over as I search through the darkened classroom; however none of my junior science class appears to have noticed my misplaced concentration.

Lunch is only just around the corner, and while I'm not particularly hungry, this DVD on pheromones in insects is doing wonders to my ever increasing restlessness today. It's a Monday, which means I'm in an even less-fortunate position than my Friday afternoon class and to make matters worse, this is the seventh time I've been at the privilege of watching this documentary.

I'm in such mental displacement that even as the bell signals the commencement of lunch, I haven't even began to gather my books by the time my last student has abandoned the room.

I release a breath as I turn the DVD player off and take some solitude in a moment behind closed eyes. I can't quite decide on my appetite. Maybe I should leave the cafeteria until after I've called Kimberly back and at least by then I will have worked out if I even feel like eating at all.

I release another breath which sounds much more like a loan groan. This wasn't at all my intention. I should have called Kimberly back yesterday, but one thing led to another. After Hayley showed up no more than two minutes after Kimberly's message, I found myself poised to catch up with the kids without notice.

Kira was beaming like the Cheshire cat or more realistically, like the broken child of divorce who was relishing in a day spent with her reconciled family. Don't ask me what the hell we did exactly, but hours turned into a fully extinguished Sunday, complete with dinner at Hayley's.

And I needed it. Pottering on Conner's shit-heap of a car and listening to Ethan and Kira debate a potential upgrade for him was enough to fill up the holes at least for a day. I didn't think about Kimberly or Jason until it was time to turn my covers over and by then, it was far too late for me to even consider calling anybody.

I shake my head as I hear a rather crude obscenity thrown in the yard outside and I know windows and walls can only separate me from reality for so long. I gather my books and head out, preparing myself for the same walk down the locker corridor to the faculty lounge, which is almost always eventful in some sort of dreadful way. On days like today, I go to maximum effort to turn a blind eye to such offenses by the students of Reefside High, but it still doesn't prevent my own personal corruption. I wonder what hope these kids have in the long run.

Lauren Dayly, one of my not-so-outstanding seniors from first period on Tuesdays, almost gropes her own thigh with a sliding hand as I walk into view and I bypass her, knocking on the girl's bathroom door abruptly.

"Principal Randall is on her way down," I call out to whatever occupants are grouping inside. "I suggest you put the cigarettes out before she puts you out for good."

I hear a snicker or 'Ooooh' from various directions, but before I can shoot a look at the remaining students gathering in the hall, another student walks up to me with an extended hand.

"Doctor Oliver," Matty Collins, a freshman, pants loudly and for a moment I'm concerned by just how much air he's sucking into those cheeks of his. "You have a visitor waiting for you in the front foyer."

I smile tightly at the chubby teenager and offer him a quick thanks, before I head off in that direction. Thankfully, I endure no further student obstacles on my path and by the time I reach the lobby, the coast is almost entirely clear of life.

"You bringing me lunch these days?" I muse in a murmur, placing my heavy load of text books onto the ledge which is supporting her weight.

Hayley straightens up and I almost let out a groan as she immediately hits me with one of her many infamous looks.

"Kimberly has been calling the cafe looking for you."

I grimace, feeling the wrinkles in my face uncomfortably constrict. "Yeah, she's tried calling a few times, I think, I was going to call her back now but I uh.-"

"You're been avoiding her, I get it," Hayley decides to interpret in a no-fuss manner. "The last two times she called, Ronny answered the phone and said she sounded pretty desperate. I know things have been awkward between you both, but she might have something important to tell you."

I try not to scoff. Or make any other similar outburst of distaste. So I instead remain stony.

"I know we didn't get to talk about anything more important than Conner's hair style last night, but I did want to ask…how exactly did dinner go Saturday night?"

I sigh softly, shaking my head. "I don't even know anymore. She was pretty removed when she got to my place and I wanted to give us a chance to talk things over. I don't-." I pause, straightening up a little. "-I don't need you to tell me it was a mistake. We've been talking on the phone for weeks and I needed…closure."

My head tips forward, my hand lifting to collect my glasses as they drop from the bridge of my nose. I fold their arms closed, shoving them in my shirt pocket as I finally look her way expectantly.

Her face is a clear canvas. "Have you asked yourself what it is you want from her?" she finally asks me, her voice almost passive.

I release a concentrated breath to lead into my answer. "I…no," my lips tighten. "I haven't."

"Well, I'm not a know-it-all," she begins, clearly tongue-in-cheek, "but there must be a reason why you feel compelled to keep calling her. Or even inviting her to your house for dinner. To cook for her," her face contorts. "You don't even like to cook."

"I like to cook," I correct her, but I'm unable to maintain this more comfortable sense of mood for very long. "She's been hurting, Hayley…and I stupidly needed to know if she was hurting over me or over him."

"Over him…being?"

"Jason," his name is at best a discomfort lodged somewhere in my esophagus.

"Jason…" she repeats softly. "I thought Jason was out of the picture."

I hold her quiet stare for a moment, before I click my tongue along my bottom teeth. "He was…out of the picture." I grimace uncomfortably. "I didn't know there was a picture. I didn't realize that everything was so complicated. I thought because I knew her…because she knew me, that things could be straightforward. But they're not," my face contorts. "Everything is fucked," I surmise lowly, not bothering to check over my shoulder for any onlookers.

"So…you want me to tell her to back off the next time she calls?"

I shake my head dismissively, but relax my shoulders somewhat as I notice she's playing with me.

"Sparing you a lecture, the reason I drove past is because on top of Kimberly calling for you, a Jeremy Scott also called. "

My eyebrows dive instantly as though in automatic reflex. "That's Jason's brother."

"He was hoping to talk to you and he gave me this number for you to call him on…" she buries her hand into the pocket of her pants, removing a piece of paper. "You got your cell on you?"

"Yeah," I nod quickly, my hand fumbling from one side of my pants to the other in search for my phone.

Whatever is about to transpire here has quickly robbed me of any appetite I didn't even have.

* * *

The phone rings only three times. At first, I'm suppressed by a massive abyss of silence, before a male's voice speaks in a rather reluctant fashion.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, Jeremy?" my free hand tightens around the paper in my palm, its fragile form crinkling mercifully. "This is Tommy; Tommy Oliver."

"Tommy…" his tone offers me recognition. "You got my message."

"Yeah I did, sorry I missed your call. I'm at work," I frown heavily to myself. "Is something up, something important?"

On his side of the line, I can hear fragmented pitches of misplaced noises and it throws me off as I try to place what will confront me next.

"I need you to come to Angel Grove, Jason's getting real bad and I don't know what else I'm supposed to do right now-."

_Hang on, hang on, I'm not-._

"I'm not following, what's wrong with Jason?" I ask heavily, my feet almost subconsciously relocating me around the corner like a lost water buoy.

I hear some sort of beeping that patterns through his rapidly delivered response. "He collapsed yesterday morning at home and we had to call the ambulance and he's conscious, but they've admitted him and I've never seen him this bad-."

There's too many 'ands' in his reply and I completely cut him off, sweeping my free fist exasperatingly toward the wall to my left. "Jeremy – I don't understand what you are talking about. What is going on with Jason exactly?"

For the first time since this call commenced, Jason's brother falls silent and my gesturing hand drops with the saliva down my throat.

"You're telling me you don't…know? Fuck…" he sounds as though he is talking to himself more than to me. "Alright…makes a lot of sense…you don't…know he's sick…"

_Sick…_

"Tommy…" his voice is awkward more than patient. My pulse lies down and near dies. "Jason's sick he's…he's been fighting cancer for the past few years. He's terminal."

My lips start gulping on thick air but if I'm trying to resuscitate my reaction, it's far too late.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 25 "Kimberly's Secret"**_

I should know the look in his eyes, but I don't catch on. Our faces move closer. I'm still standing still, but he's moving in slow motion toward me, and I feel his breath tickle my forehead, run town my nose, and very gently meet my own, strangled breath-.

I awkwardly flinch my head away, turning my back abruptly on him.

_AN-Thanks for the reviews guys :) Always appreciated. Sorry for the delay in updating – was definitely not expected (and sucks to be delayed on the most subdued chapter of late)! To clarify…yes, in this story, Jason has an older brother called Jeremy…and yes, I'm sure he still has a younger cousin out there called Jeremy (How I remember the Rockstar__ :-D ). But for the purpose of this story, any reference to Jeremy is to his brother and not his cousin. You should be able to expect the next chapter up sometime this week and it'll be good to get this train rolling again. Lights out for me._


	25. Kimberly's Secret

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 25 – Kimberly's Secret**

How did I get to this place?

I may have driven myself here yesterday in fearful pursuit of the ambulance that rushed Jason away from me, but how I came to be in this…position…feels as uncertain as the promise that anything will be okay. With Jason's focus currently intent somewhat numbly on the doctor speaking his way, I remain seated in a chair nearby, as though merely a thing discarded to the corner.

Jason's older brother Jeremy is still stalking out in the corridor and his movement casts the occasional shadow on his passing by the door's tiny window. I couldn't harness his focus since we first arrived at the hospital and today it's left me feeling as though I am not welcome here, even though no one has asked me to leave the room. Instead, I torment the cuticles of my nails with anxious picking and wait, well aware that I don't even know what it is I am waiting for.

Nor what I should expect.

Tommy's sudden arrival to Jason's hospital room is one factor that I hadn't bet on, due mostly to the fact that after eight phone calls and four messages, I still hadn't received anything in return. When the crack in the door edges open ever so slightly, his eyes meeting mine are a dense collision of all the things that have gone wrong between us over the past two months.

I discreetly stand up, almost tiptoeing to the door as I slide out to meet with him.

His eyes are darting and his breath internally heaving. "I got here as soon as I heard," is the first thing he says.

My body feels weak and my shoulders lull tiredly. "I've been trying to reach you since yesterday morning," I point out, my eyes squinting at the agitating florescent light.

"I know…look, I'm sorry I-."

I shake my head, my fingers reaching up to settle his fretful hands. "Please don't be," is all I can offer, and I offer it wholeheartedly. My voice feels dismal. "The doctor is with him right now…his parents are in Ashburn but they're hoping to get a flight in tonight."

Only a stone's throw away, Jeremy continues his monotonous march along the dulled laminate.

Tommy's hand seeks a resting point on my shoulder and it's all I can do just to hold his weight up.

The back of my head flares and my exhaustion is so consuming that I could cry without an ounce of provocation. He senses this enough to lead me to a nearby bench and I lower in unison with him, the corner of my vision catching as I notice Jeremy's embittered glance.

"Jeremy called me while I was at work," Tommy's tone is deep, yet hush. "He assumed I knew about Jason being sick but I…"

My eyes squeeze in a painful reflex that forces the slightest whimper from my lips. "I didn't know either," is all I can whisper, as my arms wrap around my body for stability. "It's a long story, but when I found Jason Saturday night, I confronted him about this other woman you were talking about and he," my eyes awash with the fresh scars from that night. "He told me he had cancer and that it's terminal."

My teeth close over my bottom lip as though to suffocate the whimper that escapes as he speaks ever so softly.

"There has to be-."

"There's nothing," my eyes are not even open. The darkness feels too haunting, unlike the serenity of Jason's arms only a night earlier, and I thrust them open desperately.

Tommy's movements' beside me are impeded in this sluggish dance, a small distance enough to separate us and any presumptions. Jeremy's never-ending pacing is burning ill-thoughts into my skull, but I have neither the energy nor confidence to speak up and suggest he check on his brother.

This very moment has become nothing more than a breakdown of breaths, postures and wretched uncertainties.

"Jeremy, can I have a word?"

The doctor's politeness feels out of place against the rough, and my bleary eyes fail to follow him as he exits Jason's hospital room and heads away from us with Jeremy in toe. Tommy doesn't waste a moment to breathe and his body pushes off the bench quickly, disappearing through the door beside us.

Tears murk my vision as I blink slowly, knowing there's nothing left for me to do but follow him into the unknown.

* * *

My hand rests with reluctance on the back of the door, my forehead nuzzling its imperfect surface for solidity. I can't gather myself by turning my face to them, but it's not nearly enough to remain here stagnant, as though attempting to keep away the monsters that threaten us from outside.

Failing to hear any words, I turn and feel myself jolt unexpectedly as Tommy sits on Jason's bed staring back at me.

"He must be taking a shower," Tommy guesses, and my face turns to confirm this as I hear the sound of water muffled from the adjoining bathroom. For the briefest of briefest moments I long to head for it, but awkwardness pulls at me as I'm reminded of the pair of brown eyes waiting my way.

For an instant, all we can do is stare at each other, neither one of us able to speak. If I had any ability right now, I could imagine it would surrender to nothing but me falling to my knees in hopeless desperation. I know that he would never catch me in time.

"How much do you know?" he finally asks.

My stomach turns and I reactively hug it with my arms as I feel my way for the bed. Paleness heeds my cheeks and I manage to reach Tommy just in time to fall to the mattress feebly.

"You look terrible," he notices gently, as I lean forward slightly, sliding a shaking hand to comb away my messy hair.

"I hardly slept last night," I barely manage, silently willing my twisted innards to subside. "I feel as though I have been hit by a truck."

Our legs dangle over the edge. I try to lift my face as his leg brushes mine.

"I barely remember even driving here…I barely remember anything after Jeremy told me that Jason's…" he shakes his head, tiny spasms shaking his body. "I can't explain it, Kim. I felt like I wasn't even there today…I should have known it was a sign-."

He stops abruptly as the bathroom door unexpectedly slides open and Jason's form freezes as he stares back at us. Tommy is the first to respond, and hastily gathers himself, moving for where Jason remains vulnerable beneath the almost inadequate shield of his gown.

"It's fine," I hear Jason cement his need for space and I feel his eyes search for mine but I'm too cowardly to reciprocate. "I didn't know you guys were here."

Tommy licks his lips and turns to watch as Jason moves past him, his pace lethargic and calculated as he carefully drags an IV stand along his side.

"Can I get you anything?" I offer him meekly, as I stand up and allow him the space to crawl into the bed.

He shakes his head, his fingers twisting and untangling the IV tubes taped to the back of his hand.

"So this is all I had to do…to get a visit from my two favorite people in the world, I just had to play dead."

I worry that Tommy won't quite understand Jason's brash sarcasm, but I probably should know better than this, as he comes up to my side and eyes Jason curiously.

"If you would have at least given me some notice, I could have at least brought a 'Get Well' balloon and novelty card with me, too," he tells Jason dryly, his hand discreetly moving to steady my arm as I seem to wobble in the non-existent draft.

Jason's eyes' lasso my own and it's all I can do to clear my throat and subconsciously step away from the both of them. "It feels hot in here," I murmur pointlessly.

"You should go and get some fresh air, Kim," Jason suggests gently, as he wriggles his hand. "They've got me hooked up so I can't go anywhere…I'll still be here."

I don't want to leave him. I want the hospital to leave us and Jeremy and the doctors and nurses and maybe even Tommy, but I don't want to leave Jason. The three of us are out of place but if I walk out that door now, what or who am I walking away from? A man who I thought was The Catalyst, the other man who is the direct result or myself, the vapid air that rests between?

My face shifts shamefully away from everything.

"How…" Tommy's throat clears and yet when he speaks up again, his voice still sounds threaded with distortion. "How long are you going to be in here?"

"I don't know, Tommy," Jason's tone is neither here-nor-there. "I didn't have a reservation booked."

My fingers knead the folds of my forehead. "You collapsed," I almost mutter. I don't know; I'm frustrated. "There's nothing funny about that."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, Kim."

My eyes burn into some random spot on the floor as I continue to hide my building disgust beneath the wall of my hand. "You were limp and you-." I drop my hand and it collides with Tommy's which is moving my way. I almost push it away blindly. "I can't take this."

Tommy moves again to somehow console me but I react unthoughtfully by shaking him away with my body. "Kim, Kim-." Tommy straightens up before me, his hands settling on my arms until I finally surrender silently.

I can't look at him as much as it's killing me not to and probably killing him even more. Instead, I click my tongue inside my mouth, my disillusioned stare boring over onto Jason.

He releases a weakened sigh. "I'm sorry, Kim…"

I squeeze his image out of sight, mutely negating the sorrow about to scream out at any given moment.

"Kim and I might go and…grab a drink and get some fresh air…and…"

"That sounds like a good idea," Jason encourages Tommy gently.

My head nods in this almost drunken fashion even though nobody has asked me anything.

"Come on, let's go for a bit," Tommy's voice whispers to me and it's all I can do to watch Jason in the corner of my eye as he looks away in defeat.

* * *

Angel Grove Memorial Hospital is by far one of the nicest hospitals I've ever visited before. In an attempt to camouflage its very nature and purpose, plants and cushy chairs flood the walkways and the smell of fresh paint was probably a recent memory. It's this idealistic ambiance that could both make and break the many desperate hearts encased within its walls but I doubt that all the pretty paintings in the world could discount this.

I feel Tommy's arm brush against me and it's a gentle pleasure that I cannot enjoy as we make our way up a corridor lined in endless panels of glass. The windows frame ferneries and ripened daisies; but even these are no match for the ghost of my reflection that frightens them away as we continue down this long walkway with no physical destination in mind.

He's said literally nothing to me since we left Jason's room until now.

"Do you want to get a drink or…?"

I shake my head so quickly it causes a bursting rush of lightheadedness to impede my step. Tommy's nostrils' fan a noting inhale but instead of reaching out to slow our rather lackluster pace, he continues to tread the silence.

"I was sitting in the kitchen with Kira yesterday morning when you called and left a message on my machine. I should have answered and I don't know why I didn't…I was being an asshole."

This is evidently an apology but I feel so ill-deserving of anything right now that I can't even match him with my reassurance.

A girl in a wheelchair passes us by.

Still, he can't help it and continues his dismal attempt at rescue. "I was going to call you yesterday, but I got carried away with-."

"Tommy," I stop and turn to him. My hand grasps the cotton of his sleeve, my head using the strength of this momentum to meet his eyes. "You weren't to know about any of this. All that matters now is that you're here and you're here for Jason."

I squeeze his arm a little and he nods slightly, before we head over to a quiet exit into one of the many courtyards. He opens the door for both of us and I easily pass under his arm, my hand combing through my hair as fresh air kisses my face with rejuvenation. The sun is split down above me through the branches of a willowing tree and I anchor to its base, turning to watch as Tommy approaches me.

The seclusion blooms as his soaring form barriers us from any passers-by.

"I thought the fresh air…some privacy…might do you the world of good," he explains needlessly.

I drop my head a notch and nod gratefully. "Thank you," I offer him sincerely.

A leaf drops. It haggles with the stony path near my feet.

"Have you been home at all?" he asks.

My fingers massage the side of my nose. "I left here late last night and came back at the start of visiting hours…I don't know, I," my voice scratches. "I honestly can't think."

"If you like I can hang around here and you could go home, take a shower and maybe-."

"No," I shake my head, wincing as my eyes sting. "I want to stay here for now and…" our eyes meet, "At least I'm not alone anymore."

Like a twig, Tommy's so far steady demeanor roughly snaps as his foot hastens back a step. He bites his lips and sighs acrimoniously into the breeze. "I'm having a really hard time believing this is really happening." He shakes his head, his mouth deforming beneath watering eyes. "He doesn't deserve this…not Jase, not Jase…"

My insides twinge as my eyes melt in empathy with his own. I know I can trust him with my tears.

"I just want him to be better, Tommy," my voice cracks. "I want to make up for all the lost time…God, I-."

Whatever would have been said next is smothered as Tommy guides me into his arms and secures me against his chest. The bone of my breast almost aches as I feel him wring me miserably, and despite my inner turmoil, I regress into this comfort and rest my cheek against his shirt. We're holding each other tightly; squeezing everything else away. Now I remember why I always felt so safe with him.

My breathing sandpapers over him as I desperately blink away a tear and then another. Quickly, I'm sobbing and then swiftly trying to regain my composure by sniffling and breathing almost simultaneously. We are tiny. Just a single mass of needy waste and I disconcert any beauty in this moment as claustrophobia begins to swell irrationally within me.

I know this isn't because of Tommy's arms' surrounding me and momentarily stealing me from reality; but because the reality is, things have gone back to how they were before…

I sigh inwardly. My heart and all it contains is once again off limits to Tommy Oliver.

I feel his arms gently slide away and his hands run down the length of my arms as we disconnect. His palms engulf mine. Despite the flecks of sun that distort my vision, I look up at him and wonder if he knows but I don't think he does.

Instead, he matches my look with so much remorse that I can barely stand it. "Kim, I-." He reaches with his left hand to stroke my cheek.

I should know the look in his eyes, but I don't catch on. Our faces move closer. I'm still standing static, but he's moving in slow motion toward me, and I feel his breath tickle my forehead, run town my nose, and very gently meet my own, strangled breath-.

"Tommy," I awkwardly flinch my head away, turning my back abruptly on him.

I wrap my arms around my stomach, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull as I feel paralysis tighten in my chest.

A little breath escapes.

"I'm sorry," I offer in a whisper, before I slowly turn around, and shake a little as I find him still standing there.

His head is already shaking and his eyes flee mine instantly in their resentful haze. "I'm sorry," he states evenly. I swallow as he gestures with his hand as though to swipe the air away. "That was a mistake."

I blink. "I didn't mean to hurt you, it's just-."

"I get it, okay?" he cuts me off quickly, his steadiness nullified by self-pity. "You don't need to explain anything."

I take a step toward him but he just as quickly steps back and I renounce, my shoulders falling regretfully.

"I'll just…go back inside and-."

"I don't think Jason really needs to be bombarded with this stupid crap right about now, do you?"

I stare at him coolly, unnerved by my sudden vulnerability.

"I moved on from you a long time ago," he starts up again. "You are not my life, Kim, you never were my life and I'm damn tired of feeling as though I'm nothing more to you than someone you can call whenever you don't have anyone else to listen to you."

I look away, wincing heavily but as I look back at him for some sort of mercy, he decides to continue.

"I thought we had something-."

"We d-did," I almost sputter desperately. "I'm not going to lie to you, Tommy, at the start I didn't know what the hell I wanted, but I know there was something between us and I wanted it, I really did, but- but-."

"But what?" he presses, dejectedly. Silence passes. "But what?" he repeats in barely a whisper.

My head drops in defeat, my eyes searching the pavement as though hoping to by chance stumble upon an answer. Don't let me cry. Not now.-.

"You told me Jason had somebody else in his life," I hastily remind him, straightening up as I recall that moment only two days earlier. "Why did you do that?"

Now it's Tommy's turn to falter and yet I cannot stand to watch it.

"Please don't explain," I quickly change my mind, holding my palms up quickly. "You're upset and in shock and I am tired and right now I really don't want to spend my time trying to hate you when the person I'm really angry at is myself."

I didn't realize I was breathing so loudly.

I hear him sigh but don't bother to respond because before I am even conscious of whatever he's doing or wherever he is, I begin to cry. Not dabble with watering eyes or sob for amnesty, but cry so harrowingly that my entire body jerks. My knees half bend beneath this crushing weight.

High-pitched grief heaves uncontrollably, ripping the rawness of my throat. "I don't know what to do-o-."

I can't hear him, can barely feel him and can definitely not see him; not until, I catch his scent but his rescue is futile in comparison to my agonizing revelation desperate for sound.

He apologizes and says sorry and says several other things that have Jason's name thrown in there and I can't keep it to myself any longer-.

"I'm pregnant."

Release.

"Wh-What?"

My hands make a mess of the tears as I drag their moisture with my fingers to brush back my bangs.

I swallow as my eyes plea desperately for compassion. "I'm pregnant," I repeat in a stiffened whisper.

Tommy's shock imitates my own and his hands move to his head, to his sides, to his head again and every other which way. As though to check that we're actually standing here and that he's really awake.

"How- I mean, how…when did-."

"I only found out last week," my voice shakes, tears slipping to freedom as I blink numbly. "I went to the doctor and they confirmed it with a blood test."

Our breathing alternates loudly.

"But that means…"

My body shakes a little as I sob with confirmation, "I know."

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 26 "Jason's Silence"**_

He looks at us uneasily. "I need to talk to you," he grumbles.

_AN- So someone asked me how many chapters this story has left to go…about the digits on one hand or less will see this journey through…hopefully. Haha. Thanks for everyone's comments, the feedback is always appreciated. I'm tired so it's off to bed for me :)_


	26. Jason's Silence

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 26 – Jason's Silence**

_A/N – Quite a bit of cursing in this one…I'll leave my pennies in the swear jar and this as a little notice for those who are more on the delicate side!_

I hate the smell of hospitals. I hate the effort it takes just to turn over in bed as tubes and cords tangle and constrict like the perfect noose and don't even mention the hour long round trip I need to plan just to use the bathroom. It was already a given how much I despise the plastic mattress protector that verbally irritates like a fork against a plate, but fuck, I hate being stuck in this box with nowhere to go. I can't take a piss without somebody knowing and I can't choose not to answer the door when someone knocks.

I'm suffocating here. In the very place that's the guardian and source of life, I feel every space of it consume me from the inside out. It kills me being here. The irony is tainted inevitability.

Jeremy returned at some point, but feels long gone again since he left to call our mother. I'd asked him to use a public phone down the hall, sparing me the pressure of having to speak to her. He didn't even push the point with me, so I guess you could say I have worn him down.

I'm ignoring the pains and internal warning signals, and yet my ears continue to burn. Resentment has never been a kind stranger and it watches over my shoulder intently now as I try not to think about Them. I'm shoving clothes in my overnight bag like my very life depends on it. I need to keep stopping every twenty seconds or so because damn it, I'm so God damn tired.

My lungs have run out of fuel again…

I hear another knock on my door. It opens, even without my welcoming and with my back remaining to them, I wonder why people even bother to knock when no one ever waits for you to let them in?

"What's going on?"

Her voice is liquid noise and I feel like she can drown me or give me life all at once. I release a flat moan from overexertion and turn slowly, lowering myself somewhere on the edge of my bed.

"Why are you packing?" Kimberly asks.

Even with a short distance remaining, I can see that she's been crying. Her skin is all blotchy beneath her eyes and pale at the apples of her cheeks. I instantly think of Tommy and while I don't mean for it to sound this way, I really hope she's been crying about him. I'll die is I find out she's looking this way because of me.

I don't know if I could handle it.

"Jason?"

"Yeah," I clear my throat a little, and gently pat the mattress beside me. "Where's Tommy?"

She seems to hesitate and then apathetically drags her feet over, resting down where my hand had laid. "He needed to clear his head a bit."

I frown a little. "I thought that's what the two of you have been doing the past forty minutes."

She doesn't elaborate on this and instead, folds her hands delicately in her lap and stares absently into the distance.

Not enduring this silence well, I attempt to stand up as gracefully as possible, but even still, her gaze refuses to follow. I return to my packing, my intention somewhat less frantic with her so near. I attempt to conceal each and every painful movement.

"Why have you been crying?" I ask her softly, moving myself so that I'm mostly turned away from her. I squeeze my eyes closed as I wait for her reply, as though darkness will offset the likelihood of an agonizing response.

"It's nothing," her voice sounds flat. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

My hand rests on a folded shirt as I swallow quietly.

The sheets on the bed rustle beneath her subtle movement. "Why are you packing? You didn't answer my question before," she reminds me.

I rub my face with my hand, unable to summon the strength required to move my legs so I can sit back down beside her. "Kim, I just need to get out of here…" I whisper. "I can't take being in this place any longer."

Her breathing rises sharply and I feel my own pulse stagger to its shortened pace.

"Where exactly do you think you're going to go? You're dying, Jason…I don't…" she breathes in one of those loud, shaky breaths which makes me shudder inside. "Why are you the only one who doesn't care that you're not going to be around soon?"

I swallow, and use my hands to push away from the bed. "This is exactly what I didn't want to have happen, Kim," I explain to her gently, just barely holding over the foulness wreaking havoc in my head. "I told you…if people cared about what I think and why I think it, they wouldn't question everything that I do."

She stands up as my sentence ends, drawing harshly to full height. But her eyes are dead. Not a scant hint of fire remains.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't be wasting my time banging my head against a brick wall…" she recites lowly, her eyes dropping. "I thought I felt something from you…something that I could hold on to. And then you turn around and tell me, that I have to let go..." her face twists with incomprehension, her expression fighting with itself. She barely whispers, "You're not even gone yet and you're telling me to let go."

I can feel a sweat prickle my forehead. "I don't want to do this…"

Her eyes expand as though strained by words that don't produce at first.

"What is it that you don't want to do?" she asks, her words transpiring to an evanescence that becomes replaced by the sound of electronic beeping.

The sound tallies my pulse. "I don't want to say sorry…" it's hard to maintain the strength to look at her. I try to find a decent breath to push forth. "Holding you in my arms the other night…it was the first time in so long that I felt like…or realized…that I don't want to be alone…" my voice is clogging with burning emotion. "I d-don't…I-."

Her eyes instantly swell in a torrent that only comes close to matching my own. Her lip begins to tremble and I rub my eyes and nose and cough and choke on tongue.

"I don't know what happened between us…Honestly?" I almost laugh through tears as my eyes fly to the ceiling in recollection. "A year ago…two years ago…I never thought I would see you again. I don't want to say sorry…"

She takes a step for me.

"I'm not sorry for feeling everything for you…but I am sorry…because even though I don't want to be without you right now, I can't stand the thought of being with you if it means you watching me like-."

"Jason, no," she croaks out, shaking her head. "I am here for you; I told you I won't leave you."

As a man of a million lost strengths, I'm weakened most by this.

She swallows, reaching for my hand. "If I can't keep you, at least let me have you as long as I can-."

I slide my hand from her dejected grip, turning away to stare toward the only window of the room. The plastic blinds guide the afternoon sun on a gentle slope to the ceiling and the light rebounds in an almost unnatural white wash which showers over me.

"I love you…"

My eyes push it away instantly. "Don't say that."

She sniffs. "I love you."

"Don't!" I snap and in a split second, I have turned and find myself staring her down. My chin trembles, as my breath pushes intimately enough to fog her own. "Don't say that to me."

The tears building in her eyes are almost burning. My shoulders, once so tall in comparison, are defenseless at best to the climb of hers.

"I love you," she whispers, our faces only a caress apart. The white light disperses in this trespass and I succumb slightly to the gentle touch of her cheek to mine. Our tears mix and join. Her whole body finally shudders in grief. "I love you," she chokes out.

My hand reaches up to stroke her hair but stops mid-flight, the room around me spinning in slow motion as I turn away from her.

Everything feels intangible.

"I care about you, too," I croak out deeply, mechanically returning to my unpacked belongings.

I hear her sniffle again. "I…"

I wait.

My hand secures around the last scattered piece of possessions. "I'm listening…" I let her know softly.

I wait.

In all its glory, the light rebounding from above rains on my courage as I slowly turn to face her; yet like a kiss from a ghost, I find myself confronted with nothing more than the lingering memory of words that never left the tip of her tongue.

* * *

"Jason?"

My eyes haven't hollowed holes through the window's glass, yet I am empty enough that my almost snickered response pulses like a dirty echo. I can't cry, not now; not when my emotions have been exchanged for this.

It hurts when you will everyone away from your door until the one person who hears your cries isn't the one you were secretly longing for.

I hear the sound of the door click close and I mentally send a silent prayer to God that he's decided to leave me be. I twist my head a little, before meeting his eyes and I sigh, turning back to stare at plastic vertical blinds.

"Where's Kim?"

I feel my lips bunch, as my tongue circles at the edge of my lips as though in search for the remnants of her tears. "I don't really know. You should call her cell if you're trying to find her."

Silence.

"I wanna be here for you, man, but you're making it really hard when you keep…pushing me away."

I sigh again. Eyes close, eyes open, and then I move to stand up, pausing half way as my legs begin to tremble unbearably beneath my own weight. Swaying awkwardly, as though suspended on two fragile pick-up sticks, I can't help but let out a helpless moan of discomfort, a feeling that is quickly relieved as I feel Tommy's arms' hook under mine.

"Don't stand, Jase," Tommy's voice is thick with concern, as he bears my load. "Let me help you back down, I can go get a doctor-."

"No," I rush out, twisting my head around as much as possible to look at him. "Please…help me stand…"

I can see the hesitation in his brow and sense how severely my request grinds against his better judgment. Yet, just as much as I know how fearful he is at this very moment, I am no longer shaking due only to my fatigue, but because I am also terrified. The cracks that existed below the surface, the ones I repaired and covered for so many years have finally burst their foundations and I can no longer keep them at bay.

Tommy's strength easily lifts my weight and I turn gingerly, having no choice but to grab hold of his shoulders as I try and out wait the degeneration of my basic momentum.

"You okay?" he asks me, his face only an inch or so away.

I can't handle my own breath nor the burden of my head, and yet I nod for him. "I'll be fine…" I wince. "Jesus."

Tommy sighs. "What's going on?"

I feel myself overcome the struggle to stand. "My legs are fucked," I whisper with frustration. "All these meds they keep giving me…feeding me the same shit about how it's gonna make things easier for me," I release a breath I've been holding. "You can let go of me now."

"Are you sure?"

I squeeze my eyes and nod, controlling my breathing as I feel him release me and wait until I'm sure I am steady.

"I ran into Jeremy in the hallway, he said something to me about having to go and see someone; that he'd be back soon," Tommy delivers, remaining at a close distance.

Silence.

I can see Tommy's unraveling anguish, and I brace myself for it. "You're dying, aren't you?" he asks almost calmly, his eyes darting around the room.

I nod gently. "I've been dying for a long time, bro…I've been waiting for this moment for years. Saw it coming, prepared myself again and again, only to keep being served another sliver of hope," my stance wavers. "It was the prolonging that made everything so much worse. It gave me…my family…even more time for this shit to fuck our lives up…"

Tommy's eyes' are awash with moisture, yet neither of us has given in.

"Every time, they would convince me to try again. My mom would cry and cry until I couldn't take it anymore, having to deal with the pressure of holding everyone's happiness in my own fate...the doctors, you know, they feed you stories of clinical trials and different combination therapy and the shit would work for a little while and then I'd be back in the same position…" I reach for my head, squeezing it in between my palms. "I tried to tell them I didn't want it, Tommy and it was killing them…and now to make things all the more fucked, there's no more chances…I played this game for nothing…nothing!"

Tommy steps for me, shooting out a steadying hand as I stumble with my final exclamation. Tears slip down my cheek and I taste them between my lips as I lift my face back up to look at him.

"I'll be here for you the rest of way, bro…no pressure…nothing," he states so severely it's numbing.

I look down, squeezing him from my view. "I've never doubted you...that's why I didn't want you involved with this, because I was afraid of what you would promise."

"My promise to you was made a long time ago, Jase. Zordon never stopped preaching it to us- responsibility, staying strong. You're neither right now, and it's because you're too God-damned stubborn to let it go and believe that there are other people that will pick the shit up for you."

"And who would they be?" I ask him lowly.

"I can remember how pissed you were about leaving the team and giving the leadership to me, Jase, you can't tell me you forget how that felt. And I didn't earn that spot; it was given to me, because Zordon knew that you took responsibility and dignity to the extreme. You didn't trust that anyone else would keep it together. Now I'm not saying I did a fantastic job, but I handled it. The world didn't end. And if that has to be forced upon you again- now- then so be it."

I swallow, awkwardly rubbing the tears away from my face with an almost disgust. "My time's run out, bro. Can't teach an old dog new tricks," I almost snicker bitterly.

Our eyes finally reunite and it's as awkward as you can probably imagine; but this feeling is only heightened by the fact that this guy means so much to me. Unable to stand the exchange any longer, I allow him to pull me into an embrace and am surprised, and yet strangely comforted as I feel him sincerely clasp his arm behind my back.

I can't cry, not now. Not when the brother of my heart is close enough to cry with me.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers to me.

I nod, my legs shaking and ticking anxiously. "I know," is all I can manage in response.

"I'll look after you."

"I know," this time my reply sounds like a gasp.

My own breath is making me claustrophobic in this stance.

"Jason?"

I assume it's Tommy and pull back, but am immediately disappointed as I notice the new intruder at the entrance of my room. Jeremy looks like shit, the stubble on his face underpinning the darkness in his eyes.

He gazes on us uneasily. "I need to talk to you," he grumbles.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, grabbing onto Tommy's shirt to prevent him from leaving my side.

Jeremy's uneasiness quickly shadows to something much deeper, to unmistakable aggravation. "Tommy, please excuse us while I talk to Jason," my brother restates evenly, shifting his eyes from me, to Tommy.

Tommy turns to me, his lips shifting about a little, but nothing sounding. "You'll be right to stand?" he finally asks.

I nod, and pass him a final look, before watching my childhood friend stroll out past Jeremy.

* * *

I scratch at the shortness of hair on my head, watching Jeremy quietly as he closes the door with an almost point in his motion.

He holds onto it for a moment, his back facing toward me.

"What's wrong?" I query carefully, turning to find the edge of my bed. I wince a little as I sit, sighing impatiently as he remains motionless.

He turns around before I can question him again and the words literally evaporate from my lips at the sudden sight of him. I had expected that his talk with our mother would have been a strain on his already overwrought emotions; but any shameful tears I had prepared myself for are nonexistent and are instead replaced by a stark madness.

My breath catches as he paces toward me, before retracting the intention of his motion just as bluntly.

"What did mom say to-."

"Just shut up and listen to me!" he snaps, as he angrily reaches for one of the visitors chairs and tosses himself into it, clamping his head in his hands.

Even my thoughts are too startled to dare provide a solution.

"Why the fuck are they here?" he demands intensely, emphasizing the pointed curse word angrily.

I start to squint, but he has none of it.

"This isn't a high school reunion, Jase – don't you think this is hard enough on us already?"

Still remaining somewhat delayed, my response seems rather bent. "I didn't realize I was dead already."

My automatic follow-up is a useless attempt to stand, and yet despite resembling a pathetic, caged animal, Jeremy's sympathy is snuffed sickly as he suddenly stands and paces the distance between our eyes.

"You're not running away from this," he holds my shoulders down, his eyes suddenly betraying the angry front on display. "I'm sick of the sight of them," he pulls away, madness moving his feet as he circles unevenly before me, as though lost in his own internal maze.

My eyes fall to the ground. "I want them here."

His maddened movements break roughly as his face tips to stare at me. "Her?" he practically sneers, settling into a snicker. "What use is she to you? Huh? Some girl you…"

He's still talking. A nasty disgorge of bitterness that continues to verbally vomit even as I sit here and think stony to you. I say nothing while he keeps _talking_. Where are my eyes? Two windows to a depreciated soul and surely the only thing testifying my defense as I remain in this deadened silence.

And yet he keeps talking. With pointed fingers and wide gestures, the accusations manifest into blatant lows, his words scouring low enough to barely scratch me. A mention of her name several times. He's still fucking carrying on.

He's still fucking holding me down from afar.

"Just fucking quit it!" I finally snap, stumbling to a messy height and pushing out at him with venomous hands. "I don't owe you or anyone else a God-damned explanation for anything!"

We stare.

"Did you tell her about yourself, Jase?"

I angrily rip my tongue along my lower teeth, pocketing it to the side of my mouth. "Yeah, here we go," I shake my head, starting to turn away. "I suppose a lecture from you would be warranted, Jeremy; after all, you're in such a fantastic marriage and all."

I'd spit the sourness from my mouth if I were anywhere else.

"This coming from Mr. Fucking denial himself. Tell me Jase – did you tell her you're a fag or that you'd just prefer to fuck Tommy over her?" he taunts nastily.

Oxygen makes a staggered inhale through my nostrils.

"Did you tell her at first we thought you might have had HIV-."

My exhale is more forthcoming and indelicately cuts him short.

"Or did you just decide to tell her that you need a replacement token girlfriend now that Cindy's gone?"

My palm becomes constricted by the painful edges of my fingers as I feel the veins in my arms swell and the words stampede to a collision at the gate.

A gentle swallow was not their intention, nor mine.

"You know Jeremy, when I came to you that day and chose you of all people to confess about my sexual confusion and preferences, I never in a million years thought I'd be standing here all these years later regretting it," I pause, as my hand bounces sporadically against the side of my leg. "I don't know what I am– gay, bisexual, straight, lonely or just plain fucking confused, but what I do know, is that I'm not going to be around much longer for any of that to change whether or not I die."

I turn slowly to face him and it's frightening to see the reflection of my own resemblance and features in him.

"What scares you more Jeremy? The fact that I've loved both men and women in my life or the fact that I'm not going to be around much longer?"

He reacts as though I've asked him something so ridiculously foreign to his conscious. "I don't think-."

"I," my voice quivers, "I loved Cindy. I felt...some connection with Nick I never expected. I love Tommy and I love Kim. Maybe you will never understand the choices I've made in my life, but I've made each and every single one because of the people I love. You're my brother and I love you...please don't waste the last moments we have together resenting the only fucking good I did with my life," I lapse into a teary chuckle. "I want Tommy and Kimberly here."

"I don't know how to deal with this," his voice lacerates sharply, his face turning to the side in shame. "I didn't mean to-."

"Don't apologize," I intervene quickly, as I notice Tommy's distorted shadow pass by the window of my door. "I'm not running away anymore. This is my journey and it's going to be me who decides how the ending will go."

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 27 "Tommy's Promise":**_

"Tommy…there's something I need to tell you."

_AN- Thank you all for your reviews, it's so wonderful to get feedback. For so many years I wrote this story oblivious to this portal where readers could give reviews and advice and so this has become a wonderful little novelty and also a great opportunity for me to really see how other people view my work. I'm still pregnant! Haha hopefully this will stay the case until the final curtain closes on this story (although getting more and more unlikely!). Hope everyone is keeping well :) ~CS~_


	27. Tommy's Promise

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 27 – Tommy's Promise**

If that agonizing, almost nauseous pounding I'd been experiencing in my head a few hours ago was called a headache, then what has possessed me now is a complete bodily dysfunction that has no title. My hands are quivering and my body is pleading for nourishment, but I can't even stomach a candy bar from the nearby vending machine. I've even suffered beyond the point of attempting to conceal this breakdown as strangers walk by.

My palms anxiously wander over the material of my clothes and my fingers fiddle with the laces of my shoe as I manage to hoist a knee awkwardly on my leg to relieve a cramp. I can't focus on the face of my watch. Every time someone walks past, their shoes seem to squeak and whine against the laminate and it trickles like a damn stampede to my temple.

I sniff pathetically, my nose a stuffy mess as my watering eyes attempt to dial Kimberly's cell number. I already know she isn't going to answer and so I just stare at the screen as it blinks to no avail.

Intermittently raised voices from Jason's room nearby continue to coil my background symphony as I dial her number once more. When I notice the answer symbol flick up unexpectedly, it takes me a whole lot of hurried juggling to wrench it to my ear.

"Kim," suddenly I'm breathing as though I've been running.

Her signals of life from over the phone line are tucked away by all comparisons.

"I couldn't find you…where are you?" I ask her genuinely concerned, as I negotiate with my feet and begin to needlessly pace the short length by Jason's door.

Finally I hear just a breath.

"Did you talk to him at all?" I decide to give another attempt of life support to this languishing exchange.

She whispers: "I can't tell him."

"Kim, you have to."

"How Tommy? He's-s…I can't tell him."

I swallow one fucking giant lump of saliva. "Look Kim, I know that you are scared, but end of the day Jason needs to know. He-."

The silence from her end is swiftly smothered by the telltale beeps of a hang-up.

As though in denial of some sort, the phone stays to my ear for maybe another thirty seconds, before I resignedly lower it and remember to breathe and remain standing upright. Jason's voice is a sudden assassin to even the emptiness of the corridor I have just walked. While I can't quite negotiate their context, my ears are driven to locate his words as I find my cheek resting against the door that separates us. I hold my breath, my fingers latching around the shirt at my chest until the sudden swing of the door forces me to stumble loosely.

Jeremy's wide-set frame pushes past me, seemingly oblivious to my collapsing body that he discards to the side with his momentum. I attempt to gather myself quickly, guilt flooding my movements as I find myself briefly exposed, before the swinging door returns back to shield me temporarily.

I swallow, reaching for my glasses, before realizing I wasn't wearing them in the first place. Whichever route he took, Jeremy is nothing more than a memory that allows my next decision.

"Jase?" my tone is varied through each letter, as I work my way through and find him sitting on the bed staring in my direction.

"I'm okay," he declares presumptuously, his expression bordering on dry and I wonder if he noticed I was clearly eavesdropping on his room only moments ago.

I feel myself glance over my shoulder for a moment's security, before returning him my own expression of doubt.

"I heard a lot of raised voices," I point out.

Jason blows a gratuitously long breath out between crowded lips and nods with an almost confirmation. "None of this is easy for anyone…you don't look too great yourself, bro."

Kimberly…

I'm suffering a moment of panic at any remnants that might give her revelation some stark form. I move my hands to check for any tears or God knows whatever else when I hear him make a sudden noise.

Not at all pleasant.

And then something else.

His face falls parallel to the very floor that stages my weight and he begins to laugh. I take a step toward him, before his head begins to shake purposelessly and the uncomfortable sound latches to pointed little breaths.

"I'm so fucking tired," his voice is high and yet barely a whisper. "Please just fucking make this disappear."

Without warning, his body almost slumps forward and I instinctively move, scooping my arms under his own flaccid limbs.

"Jase, Jase," I shake him aggressively, my voice urgently venting his name before I feel his forehead move by his own intention against my shoulder.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," his words slur drudgingly. His head is almost loose, moving back and forth against my upper chest. Moisture reeks to the skin below my shirt. "I'm so fucking tired of everything."

I'm too terrified to move. The muscles in my calves compress from my mental tourniquet, even though Jason's weight is still supported mostly by the mattress beneath him.

"Sometimes I'm just so frightened of dying that I just want to die so I don't have to be frightened anym-m-more."

I clasp my sweaty palm over the hump of his back.

"I'm sorry for fucking everything u-up," he continues this dismal unraveling. Seams split into every imaginable direction from here. "I wanted to call you so many times bro, I wanted you in my life but I was so ashamed, bro, I didn't want you to see what I turned out to be, so fucking wasted bro, so fucking jus-."

A staggered, angry breath of shattering proportions.

"Just no direction, no reason. I'm sorry for what happened with Kim all those years ago, I really liked her Tommy I-I know that's no excuse but I felt like such a loser at that point of my life and she still saw me as everything you saw in me bro. I-I'm sorry I didn't call you or didn't see you or didn't fucking bother, it's not because I didn't want to, I wanted to so badly, but I was frightened of what you would think of me. I felt like I had no direction in my life, I couldn't find that-that-that thing to fill my purpose, and then I met Nick and I don't know Tommy, I never thought I was gay, it just happened but it didn't last…Then Cindy...I'm tired of walking-g this alone, I..."

Jason is still talking. I'm unfortunately trapped back one sentence ago, my eyes widening stiffly in their sockets.

"You're...gay?"

Silence.

"I-It doesn't matter if you are, Jase, I just want-."

"It doesn't matter what I am?" he asks guardedly. "Or it doesn't matter who I am?"

I think for a moment.

"I'm not gay, Tommy...I'm not anything it seems...because no matter what, I'm still in the same fucking position I'm in now...alone..."

I can feel the tension in his previously wretched body lull as his forehead slides to allow his cheek against my shoulder.

"I told you Jason...I am going to be here for you..."

Kimberly's eyes' are all that I see when I briefly close my own. Her shuddering, desperate little body throwing smaller hands against mine. I caught them and held them, jerking her arms and screaming at her not to run away without ever saying a word.

Just as I am at this very moment here at Jason.

"Are you going?" I barely hear him ask me, his words muffled by his sliding hand that pushes away the drool at his mouth.

I watch him closely as he pulls away and I almost feel a coldness rape the place he had rested.

"I'm not going anywhere," I murmur and I know I sound vacant but it couldn't be any more opposite. "I promised you...I'll be here for you."

He nods lowly, his eyes downcast. "I was so scared for so long to ask anyone for help because I thought if I did..." his words dissipate and he shakes his head. "I'm at the point where I don't even know anymore why I did anything."

"When we get scared Jase, we're vulnerable...it's a hell of a lot easier when you can eliminate the fear by drawing on powers and facing it with people around you with that same goal. You were always one of the strongest people I knew..." my mind touches to all those memories... "Your strength was never in your own interest. You're a leader, Jason...and I don't consider myself in the same league, but it's a lot easier to lead other people then it is to lead yourself."

I'm just as vulnerable now...because who am I leading? I was always at my strongest when they were my purpose, but what will it do for my own fragility and might knowing that I can lead Jason now to no other destination but darkness? I can't save him...whether or not I guide him now, I can't prevent him from falling away when the fingers of destiny come to pry us apart again.

Jason's going to die. And there is nothing my God-damned fucking guidance can do to prevent that.

But is that what leadership is all about? Whether you win or lose? Or is the value of those outcomes entirely sacrificial to the way you play the game? If I grab Jason's chin and hoist it high...keep him standing...can I somehow guide him along a better path, even if they all lead to that same inevitable door?

"Kimberly was crying when she came to see me before," Jason mentions softly, as though his previous emotional self-onslaught never occurred.

I time my breathing in order to respond in any way possible. "She's not...dealing with this well," I explain just as gently.

He nods vaguely, before his eyes open nakedly and stretch my way.

"Take care of me bro..."

I swallow and squeeze my eyes closed, patting his back agonizingly as I feel his forehead once again fall to the safety of my body.

* * *

"Tommy...Are you okay?"

Even though my car is pulled securely into a parallel parking space and my keys are no longer in the ignition, my hand rests anxiously on the steering wheel before me. My head searches for the padded rest somewhere behind it and as I find it, I also manage to locate a reply that sounds beyond a mere thought.

"I'm not coming home tonight."

The energetic background noise from Hailey's end dims enough that I can hear her sigh expectantly.

"I took a bunch of messages for you already...What are you going to do about work?"

My eyes move without my head as cars continue to pass me standing still. It doesn't feel like night is approaching. I don't know how to comprehend a surrender to today. Asides from taking the option of manually turning the hands of my watch back several hours, it feels like I am heading for an ending that is every bit as dark as the impending dusk.

It feels useless to wait for the certainty of dawn.

"Do you need me to make any calls for you?"

"No," I clear my throat. "No, it's okay Hailey...thanks," I add meekly, moving my hand from the steering wheel to the side of my temple.

"Where are you now?" she asks with genuine concern.

My elbow rests on the frame of the driver's side window as my eyes flick up in direction of Kimberly's apartment block.

"Kimberly's pregnant."

It sounds as though she is talking with a mouthful of semi-hardened cement when she finally relieves a response.

"Tommy...you can't be-."

"I am," I swallow. "I am serious." All these thoughts in my head are physically hurting me. "I won't be coming back tomorrow...the rest of the week. From there, I don't know. I'll call Randall and tell her I need some time off...if she can't give it to me, then I'll hand in my resignation. I'll call the kids...Jason's dying."

I feel abused by my own argonaut sense of declaration, such patience to finally say it out loud not nearly payment enough as I feel myself mentally running with these words.

I'm running and running and running as though I fear anything less might mean I cannot keep up when he decides to leave...

"I'm sorry," my voice is shattered consolidation. "I wasn't listening..."

No impatience from her end is hinted. "Do what you need to do right now, Tommy. Reefside will survive without you."

I nod knowingly, trusting that she can see me as much as I know she's blinded to my presence at this moment. Lowering the phone to my lap, I stare blankly ahead, summoning all the strength that I tried to hand over to them. Kimberly's little car remains two spaces ahead and I'll use that as justification for this visit. It's too late to leave now.

I pass one person on the way to apartment number nine. I can't even tell you if they were male or female, let alone if I barreled them down with my heavy stride or apologized after the fact. I feel intent. Resolute by so much damn uncertainty that paves the very automation of my blinded path to her.

The door opens as automatically as all this commences.

"Tommy..."

I survived my ascent to her. The question is, can I withstand the return journey?

"When I met you all those years ago Kim, I spent each day longing for the next to arrive just so I had a chance to see you again. I don't care how old we were or how much we didn't know about the world because if there's one thing I did already know back then, it's that you were just a start to every great thing that ever followed in my life."

By the time you read this I'm already speaking again.

"I know it's not my place or my business to pretend that I know any better about anything now than I did back then. I can't tell you that telling Jason that you're pregnant is the best thing or the right thing. I can't tell you that you should do it. I can't tell you that anything is going to be better or that any of this will be okay-."

I come to a mental barricade as two beads of hollow pupils strip me of my verbal treading. Her head finds the door that rests vertical to us both, and she turns to it as I regroup.

"I come here as your friend, Kim..."

She whimpers, her face progressively shielded by strands of hair that do little to mute her augmenting distress.

"I'm not here to change your heart or take your heart or give you mine and I know the likelihood that I will ever wake up next to you every morning is basically non-existent, but that's not why I'm here now...I was never here because of that in the first place..."

My hand finds hers with gentle intrusion. "Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you."

Movement from somewhere behind me in the hall summons only this brief mentioning, before Kimberly's face finally slides from the open door and fixes on me miserably. She blinks forcefully, squeezing tears from their desperate banks.

She shudders in utter exhaustion. "I can't do it," she starts to sob, and I pull her into my arms, holding her firmly against me. Her voice peaks and entangles in her grief. "He's dying, Tommy...I can't tell him-m."

Once I do this, there's no going back.

"If you can't tell Jason, Kim-."

She bunches my shirt in between clenched hands and I gently guide her face into my view, inhaling the scent of floral shampoo as I gently lift her chin.

"If you can't tell Jason...if you think this through and come to the decision that you can't tell him...then I'll be here for you."

A tear settles on the side of her lips as her eyes turn in confusion. "What do you mean?"

* * *

Meekly chewed pasta travels with ill-ease down my throat, as I study the spoon in my hand with intense concentration. My stomach claws to meet my attention and I sharply rasp a bitter noise from within, squinting as the taste of vomit somehow kisses my tongue.

"I'm sorry; it's all I have-."

"No," I dismiss her instantly, my curled hand lifting to shield my parched lips. I shake my head, courageously straightening up in an attempt to dispel her concerns. "It's fine, really; I just can't work out if I'm starving or feeling sick."

The fork in Kimberly's hand trails without purpose through her own meal, her narrowed shoulders mellowed almost sickly in reflection of my own.

"Are you..."

"Feeling sick?" she guesses, as her hands clumsily push her dish away. "I haven't even been able to even smell coffee, let alone drink a cup."

I smile tightly with understanding and as much as I automatically feel the urge to rub her shoulder, I instead concede my stomach another offering of reheated Spaghetti.

"Who have you told?" I ask her quietly in between intermittent chews.

Her elbows find their platform on the small dining table between us. "Only you," she admits softly, her face flicking away in avoidance of my own. "Carmel and John are going through so much with Olivia at the moment and the last thing they need right now is my drama. My mother is in Berlin until next week...I-." her face lowers into the awaiting pedestals of her palms. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to tell anyone about this."

Flaccid garlic tinges my saliva and I clear it harshly. "You don't have to worry about anyone else right now, Kim. I know that with..." I need to quickly change my route. "What do you want to do?"

"About what?"

My Adam's apple constricts uncomfortably.

She sighs miserably. "I always wanted kids...I wanted kids so bad, Tommy, I never in a million years saw myself as one of those women who would do something like this." She hasn't at all answered my question. "I can't even imagine considering an abortion, I-I."

Like the flick of a switch, a torrent of agony twists her features, folds her skin and ravages her shattered gesturing as I quickly reach across in an attempt to appease her.

"Nobody has the right to tell you you should have an abortion, Kim."

She sniffs loudly. "I thought that's what you were trying to suggest to me at the door when you said that if I couldn't tell Jason, that you'd be here for me, I saw the look in your-."

"An abortion?" I cut her off, shaking my head profusely. "Kim, no. No, no, no, that's not at all what I meant at all."

Her hand lowers from her face. A tiny breath hurries out, as her dark eyes widen with an almost relief, despite the simultaneous confusion that registers just as quickly.

I swallow, pushing my own leftovers away with no real intention. "This is difficult," I murmur aimlessly. I unbutton one of the cuffs of my sleeves, and yet my pulse continues to race and so I look directly as her, seeking some sort of refuge in her awaiting gaze.

"I can't pretend that I wasn't hurt and pissed and...jealous, when I found out that Jason had been..." I choose my words delicately, "staying over with you. This part of me that just goes to work and goes home tells me to not bother, to just stay out of things and return to that simplicity which is my life. But I can't do that...I can't just leave, and I don't know if it's some pathetic hero persona I can't disassociate from, but something tells me there's a reason that all things happen."

Kimberly's hands' find comfort in each other, as she blinks downwards. "I don't want your forgiveness, Tommy..." she whispers.

"And I can't offer you forgiveness..."

Her dark eyelashes fan open.

"Not now, not at this time...but this isn't about you and me, Kim and we both know that. I made a promise to Jason...that I would take care of him. And taking care of him means taking care of you."

Her face seems unconvinced. "I'm not following..."

Deep breath. "I'll help you take care of the baby, Kim."

The wall clock from the kitchen behind me rhythmically pulses, distilling this moment and it extends painfully as I watch her hands draw toward her. I reach over and secure the tips of her fingers, holding her gaze. Gripping it.

"No one needs to know...I'll be there in their life. I'll provide however I can-."

She inhales sharply into a climactic whimper. "No," she shakes her head quickly, before pulling the end of her hand away and throwing her face into her trembling palms. "You d-don't-."

I shakily stand and move around to the chair beside her, my arm securing the distance of her shoulders as I lower myself to the chair beside her. "This baby deserves everything...you didn't make a mistake, Kim, sometimes things happen and it fucking sucks and sometimes we simply can't change them."

She begins to cry. For approximately four minutes and something seconds, the top of Kimberly's body blankets the space of table in front of her as she cries and cries and cries. My hand, always so awkwardly offered, remains wrapped around the petite contour of her furthest tricep as my eyes flick crestfallen between my watch and my leftover meal. A lone tear falls from my height, but I brush it away in an attempt to welcome her back with stronger eyes.

Our faces settle inches apart, as though in quiet exploration of anything that remains unspoken.

"Tell me what you're thinking..." I coax her, my voice damaged from too much emotion.

Her lips relax, parting softly. "I watched him...fall away from me, Tommy...I'm scared that he's too far fallen for me to throw this at him..."

I inhale thoughtfully. "I spoke to him just before I left the hospital," I pause, only just realizing how much the recollection pains me physically. "In the space of a day I went from disbelieving Jason could ever succumb to something like this, to knowing that for the first time in my life, I can't save him-."

Her hand falls to shelter mine. It's a brief moment.

"What if him knowing about this offered him something...some sort of hope..."

Kimberly is clearly too pained to consider such an option. "Would you want to know?"

I look away for a moment before I slowly shake my head. "I don't know," I answer her honestly.

My arm finally slides from her shoulders as we slowly regress to our separate spaces.

"You have Jason to consider...his parents...yourself...You know that Mr and Mrs Scott would support you-."

"I know," she rushes out, nodding as though banging her head on a wall. "I thought about them straight away, I know what this would mean to them, I'm just so scared that this would make everything so much harder for Jason."

Silence passes. Maybe I am just too tired to find an answer. Maybe I'm too frightened to offer one.

Kimberly continues on her own axis, rotating through a delirious cycle. "I don't understand how this happened," she whispers, as though to herself. "I was on birth control...I know I get those cramps a lot but...Jason, he's so sick...how does something like this happen..."

Uncharted waters chop madly the more you try to keep your balance.

"I think you need to tell him."

Blink.

"I would want to know," I decide, before I even register what it is I'm declaring. "I would want to know, because seriously Kim, I would want to know that when I'm gone, you're not going to forget about me; that it's not the same as me walking away from you one day and not seeing you again."

Silence passes as the clock ticks loudest of all, offering a callous, fucked-up reminder of my conviction. And hers.

"I need...time..." she numbly rebuttals. "God...I don't even know how much of that I have left..."

The clock remains ticking.

**To Be Continued...**

Teaser for Chapter 28 "Kimberly's Prayer":

Have my ears betrayed me? Or did he really speak those words which throb as much as the fresh wounds still etched in my own soul.

"What did you say?"

_A/N- Thanks to everyone for their patience when it comes to updating of late. I've always believed in regular updates (not only for readers, but for myself as the writer it helps in keeping the wheels in motion), but things have just not gone to plan the last 6 weeks! I guess that's what happens when you have a baby haha Let's hope that the insane tiredness that comes with caring for 2 littlies doesn't impede the quality of things! Only a few more chapters to go...and I am mostly there :) Oh, and thanks so much for the reviews :) CS_


	28. Kimberly's Prayer

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**Chapter 28 – Kimberly's Prayer**

The clock on the dashboard blinks a blurred reminder as I remain seated in my car, my mind escaping to the eleven thousand minutes that crossed the distance from Tommy leaving my apartment that night to this very moment. Midday sun prickles my skin through the windscreen and my skin has been protesting, sending salted sweat to bay above my top lip. My pulse is skipping faster then the seconds that mock me, and yet all this internal hysteria still fails to move me from my seat. I am a mess despite all my greatest intentions.

Please don't ask me what I am doing here because I don't have any explanation for what I fear I'm about to do. I've spent the last eight days in utter distress, pacing dizzying expeditions around my living room while shoving dry crackers down my throat. I fantasized about happy endings non-stop before eventually my body was too much for my mind to bare. I couldn't face my own bed. I'm sure the couch was uncomfortable, yet somehow I didn't notice as I numbed the pain by watching all those shows on TV where the sick always get better and only the bad guys ever lose.

God has yet to hand me my own miracle.

My hand rests absentmindedly on the subtly rounded silhouette of my stomach, leading my eyes to tuck away and focus on the idea of a tiny little heart beating beneath it. It's my turmoil and yet easily my only solitude right now. A beautiful secret that has been scarred by the selfish decisions I have so far made this year. I can't bare to allow them to become the brunt of yet another one on my behalf.

I can't afford to be selfish anymore.

In a moment of periodic conviction, I awkwardly leave the safety net of my car. My hands enter a clumsy race to straighten out the elongated top I chose in self-paranoia, but they are far too useless to do anything about my hair. A million eyes are on me, but they all reside in my head and in my conscience. My teeth pull lipstick from my bottom lip to my tongue. I can still taste my tears. My appearance is all that stands between hiding my reality from...reality.

The elderly figure of Jason's mother potters unsuspectingly beside the front fence, and I pull up quickly as she senses my stiffened approach.

"Kathleen..." I flick my hand up instantly as though to advertise that I'm not hear to hurt her.

Her thin frame seems to release a visible breath, as she adjusts her sunhat. "Kimberly...I haven't seen you around for a little while," she notes.

I nod a little, my face lowering momentarily as though in dishonor. This distraction hardly lasts, as my eyes rebound and glance up at the Scott's picturesque house waiting in vain for Jason to waltz right on out and greet me from the porch.

Instead, a bird flies overhead. "How's he doing? Jason." My fingers brush back my hair as it continues to hurry with the summer breeze.

Glancing back out toward the house, my weary attention is interrupted as she takes a step toward me. "He's not here, Kimberly…He was checked into the palliative care unit at The Memorial a few days ago."

I start to bawl. Of course, I'm in far too much deluded shock to actually produce any apparent reaction so the most I can do is reach for my chest as though to check I am still alive.

"You put him into a hospice?"

She's also crying without shedding the tears. Nodding gently, she leans against the picket fence. "We didn't have a choice, or at least we didn't if we wanted Jason to be as comfortable as possible. At the end of the day, that's our priority, right?"

I nod in a dizzying response, my bottom lip abandoning the top as the muscles in my face droop and fall to an almost paralysis. I mentally scatter. To him walking into the gallery months ago and walking back into my life. The timeless depth of his eyes. Our innocent date over pizza and not so naive avoidance of touching the truth. His presence that floated near and away. Almost here. Almost Near. To his awaiting arms; the same that caught me once, twice and three times.

I wasn't looking for love. I was looking for myself...for my purpose...and on my journey of sorts, I found myself hijacked and running the course in someone else's journey. When he was on me...in me, near me, against me...his arms felt so strong under the touch of my hand. And yet the closer we grew, the quicker he faded. Jason fell.

I know. Please don't say it.

Time easily draws to a stand still in my head, despite the world around me continuing along on its same wretched time-line.

Jason has already surrendered.

"The doctors advised us that his condition would deteriorate rapidly-." Kathleen pauses, her eyes distracted by mere thoughts. "They say it's common for that to happen...they've been able to medicate him but it's mostly to keep him comfortable," she runs her hand across her forehead. "You should go and see him, love, I'm sure he would love to see you," she finally suggests, turning to return to her gardening. As though we're just standing around, talking about the weather.

"Yeah, I will," is all I barely say, before I hear a loud thud up ahead, and look up in time to watch Jason's brother exit the front door.

He stops dead in his tracks and even at this distance, his eyes look like blood pearls as he stares at me. Moving his beer from one hand to the other, he extends his free one, gesturing for me to approach.

I tuck my arms tightly around my body, surprised at least to find that up close, it looks as though Jeremy has cleaned up since the last time I saw him at the hospital. He's clean shaven and his hair is neatly slicked back; yet just like myself, it's as though he's playing make-believe and wearing a costume. I can see the carcass rotting away, the iris of his eye a deathly focus in reddened whites. By the way I watch him almost stagger along the porch and drop into one of the chairs, I can't tell whether he's had too much to drink or is just deflated to that point where even basic movements are too difficult to control.

"You can take a seat," he mentions, opening the can of drink in his hand.

I bite my lips a little. "It's okay, I'm just passing through…"

"Yeah," he practically snickers, staring at the ground, an almost smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You people always were good at just 'passing through' Jason's life now, weren't you?"

I inhale, flinching internally at his unexpected remark. "Jeremy, I didn't come here to upset you or your family," I tell him honestly. "I am here because I care about Jason, whether you believe that or not."

He looks up at me, but there is no apology on show, not even a wordless offer. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm pissed off by the idea that you and Tommy think you can both come into Jason's life after deserting him when he really needed his friends…and now I have to accept the fact that Jason has chosen Tommy to care for him?" he stands up, taking a step toward me. "You people mean nothing to us...why the hell can't you just leave us alone?"

Small, sharp little breaths pull in through my mouth as I look down, avoiding the way in which he's now towering over me. I lower my crossed arms and whisper a mute reassurance to the little life resting within me. I count away the intimidation in my head.

Losing interest, Jeremy retracts his stance, dropping back in his chair and tossing another mouthful of beer into his sneering mouth. The image disgusts me.

"I'm sorry I came," is all I can say, before I turn around and head for the stairs down the porch.

"My brother was heartbroken over you."

My steps stumble into a broken pattern, ungracefully curving with the line of my body and sight as my eyes fall back on him in tremor. Have my ears betrayed me? Or did he really speak those words which throb as much as the fresh wounds still etched in my own soul.

"What did you say?"

"Don't break his fucking heart again. Let him die with dignity."

My lips remain loose, fed only by the linger of a whisper that screams hatefully in reply. Like a heavy fist against his chest or a shove against the walls that have enclosed around us. Yet, as much as I feel tortured to fight back, I hold my tongue in place and cry inside as a look at him reminds me of the very person that has come between us.

"Jason will always have people that love him. But some of us aren't as good as him and don't deserve him," I finally allow myself to swallow. "I'll always love your brother because he never saw the difference and never has. He has shown a dignity that won't leave him, even after he is gone-."

I stop short, covering my mouth with a rigid hand. "But when he dies, he'll take every ounce of it with him."

And like so many moments that have preceded this in my life, I turn and run. I'm only walking stilted in everyone else's reality, but inside me, I am running and running without knowing where I am going or just how much I might regret it later on.

* * *

The intricate peaks of its chiseled tiara sat strongly in my mind as I fled the Scott's house, and yet it didn't comfort me as I know it probably does others in their time of need. I never say grace, I constantly say His name in vain and I especially never bother to turn up to church. I was terrified by the mind games once again. This time it was of me turning up to God's door and being struck down, banished away for all the lies I made to him and all the promises I never kept.

I used to ask God for so many things. Being a ranger at least made my plea bargains void of youthful selfishness, but it only took one month after leaving Angel Grove for me to start asking him- angels, fate, whatever you want to call it- to make sure that things worked out for me, for my own gain. Not to save the world or to protect my friends, but so that I got everything my own way.

And my stroke of good fortune lasted for a beautiful voyage through years of a pleasant normality and scatterings of minor bumps along the way. I never understood why I felt the way I did after leaving behind my innocence. Why was it was so easy to forget about Tommy? God brought me to Luke...and they were his very words to me when he gave me a promise ring for my twenty-second birthday.

That I was an angel God had delivered to him.

Most things I wanted, I always received. The things I didn't get, were often replaced by other options which in time proved to make more sense. Sometimes I even reasoned to myself that I deserved it for everything I did as a ranger. I served the greater good, didn't I? Happiness was my reward. God was looking out for me, just as I felt sure he was looking after all the others as well.

The cross on my heart digs into me as I realize the acidic truth, my knees collapsing beneath me as I find myself to a lonely pew. My hands pathetically grip onto its shiny surface, slipping helplessly as I struggle to bring them together in a sure sign of prayer.

I don't even know what I'm praying for. I want Jason to live, and yet I never took an interest in his life for so many years until now. If he died two years ago, would I have even known? Would the very strength that is he, have shaken my world back then as much as it has now?

I swallow heavily, tears smudging into the backs of my hands as I rest my face against them. Gone are the days where even in the face of impossibility, the _impossible_ existed to counter it. Where mathematics solved all equations or a simple "It will be okay" would do the trick.

Sobbing tears that seem too trite, I finally lift my face, hoping to feel the sun from outside magnify through the church's stained-glass ceiling. I can see the lines of sunlight stencil in aimed streaks across the endless rows of benches, yet none come close to touching me with any form of comfort. It's as though I have become a shadow, so contrastingly outcast in a place where I feel I am not welcome.

Perhaps my greatest sin of all is pure self-pity. Most definitely my selfishness. I'm not even sure if I'm crying at the thought of what Jason must be feeling right now, or because I am so horrifically terrified. It was only months ago. Merely months. A whole bunch of weeks back in time where my greatest dilemma was turning twenty-nine and obsessing over why Tommy didn't write a longer message in my birthday card. This vanity is senseless. How can one person's happiness dictate the pure joy of so many others?

The Catalyst.

Jason has become mine, just as he has to so many others.

"Please..." I whisper, my overwhelmed skull falling in surrender once more to anyone or anything that may be listening. "I just want everything to be okay, again...I would give everything for Jason to live-." I choke, blabbering on in a voice that's scurried higher than a hushed prayer. "He's going to be a father-."

That's as far as I make it, before I really start to cry, so forcefully, that I need to collect my face in my palms.

These people all belonged to the hands I once upon a time never thought I would let go of and it's as I think of this that Jeremy's hateful words' begin to chant hauntingly. I'd let Jason's hand go far too long ago. I'd let go of Tommy's hand as well and existed in my self deluded perfection. Perfect boyfriend, perfect house, perfect life. I thought I had everything to live for. Had I tried to call Jason a few years ago, would that have given him something to want to live for again?

Would have the very result inside of me now provided him with enough purpose to want to fight, to sacrifice again, just as he had done in the past? Would God have seen the good in us then, and realized that we were still as worthy as we once were?

"I'm sorry," I whimper, squeezing my eyes so tightly, I can hear the strain roar in my eardrums. "Tell me how to fix this."

Maybe I think I am praying to God, when really I am begging for reason from someone else who showed me the magic of possibility. Zordon. What would he tell me to do, now?

I snicker within a lengthened sob. He would tell me to look within myself. And yet to do that now, is like sifting through an ocean of murky darkness, for something that doesn't even exist.

So, what did I do all those times back then, when I felt I was looking for a needle within a haystack? I turned to him; to them. And even when it didn't fix the hurt, or mend the breakage, everything just seemed better when I had them there with me.

It's what I need now.

* * *

I haven't been to a hospice before and I'm not sure what I was expecting to find in one; but strangely enough, the Palliative Care Unit at the Memorial Hospital is nothing like I had thought it would be. As I entered through the front entrance, I expected the lights to be dimmed and for it to have a different smell. As though entering death itself, I partly envisaged it to feel heartless...and yet somehow, I was met with a quiet calm completing missing from the adjoining hospital.

"Hi, can I help you?"

I almost can't speak his name. "I'm hoping to visit Jason Scott," I explain, waiting as the nurse's eyes' dart down to a clipboard before her.

"I'm family," I add swiftly, my lie remaining hidden as she looks back at me with kind eyes and points up the hall.

"Room 9A."

I mouth a thanks, my lips remaining slightly open as I rigidly walk up the corridor, trying not to sneak a curious eye into the passing rooms. Stopping before the door in question, I hold my breath for a moment, before releasing it in a slow, drawn out burst. I don't know what I will find through here.

I push open the door slowly, pausing as I notice his body tucked tightly beneath a typical hospital blanket, sunlight from outside fanning across the room in postcard splendor. The peace feels menacing somehow. With an absence of all the usual hospital equipment, I am only met with lemon-kissed white light, his lifeless form and a stack of papers and tissue box on a bedside table.

Jason's eyes' remain hidden. I contemplate leaving a note, but my captured breath escapes as his head slowly rolls over in my direction. His eyes widen in recognition as his expression transcends through all the emotions that I'm experiencing within my very own heart.

"Kim," he whispers, his body not cooperating as he moves to sit up without thinking.

I scurry to his side, resting both hands on his shoulders. His face breaks into a smile and I can't help but offer him one in return, as I gently push his body back against the mattress.

My hands fall in subconscious search for his. A place of sanctuary.

"I'm so happy to see you," he tells me. The sound of his voice feels unknown to me.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here," I admit. "Things have been…"

Everything in me shivers.

The startlingly mild touch of his hands rouses me as they envelope my own. "You don't have to explain…but I'll be honest Kim, I didn't think I would see you again," he allows, clearing his throat. His words sound slurred beneath the surface, his pupils full and unnatural. "One of the things I would have regretted most would be to go and never know if you were happy…"

I owe him more at this moment than to burst into tears and let him down well beyond any means I've already discovered. Can he see me scampering, clinging like a last breath of air that's too vapid to form its own existence?

He's dying and it's killing me. I'm alive and feel like I'm dying.

I try to smile. So, so tightly that it physically hurts. "I am, I'm happy," I whisper quickly, nodding my head.

Look at him. I remember what it feels like to feel him.

His face remains the epitome of fragility as I watch him almost focus on something as basic as blinking his eyes.

"It's nice in here," I decide to mention, before I feel ridiculous doing so.

"I'm glad you finally decided to come," he tells me, but without an ounce of bitterness or insincerity. "The months have really dragged since I last saw you..."

My eyelids spasm a little as I frown. "Months? Bu-." I stop.

It's been nine days for me and months for him. Time has fallen to the mercy of pills designed to extend his life while robbing him of the comprehension of its very existence.

If I mention my heart breaking again, will you view that as prosaic? The clock on the wall is banging and not ticking. I'm trying to think and it's so loud and I know that if this all had happened only _days_ earlier, Jason would have known the moment I walked through this door that something was wrong. Instead, my knees are trembling as I struggle to hold my bladder and my tongue.

"I um," I lower myself into a chair beside him, my posture stiff. "I have some surprising news to tell you…I um, didn't know if Tommy said anything to you about it yet."

For what it's worth, Jason's eyes' even seem to brighten a little, as he shakes his head in a very heavy, concentrated manner. "Tommy has been nothing more than Tommy," he describes a little fondly. "Fussing over me and remaining very tight lipped. But even drugged up like a mad man, I could see something's been on his mind. Tell me your news. Gossip in this place has been rather slow as of late."

I feel like all the tiny muscles in my face are twitching. To the eye, everything in this room looks okay. To the soul, I know that mentally he is challenged to the point where even his tongue is no longer his own.

We made a life together that he will never get to experience. I'm about to lose him to a memory and I don't even have the power to save him by offering him the greatest joy he could possibly know.

Without God, Zordon or Them...all I have is myself. I pray to myself.

"Well um, Tommy and I have been seeing each other again..."

I feel my legs tense. It's practically unbearable to order them still.

"We've been taking it slow...neither of us really wanted to...you know, rush and I know, but um..."

Please forgive me.

"We, I'm pregnant; we're pregnant-."

Jason's lips' relax, his mouth opening partially, before their edges curl upwards without delay. I'm trying to hold myself together but between the beauty of his eyes and the cold chamber in my chest I am at a loss as to how to hold back my own fragility.

His eyes recognize the confliction. "You look sad Kim," he notices. A brush to my cheek. "What's wrong? I mean, is everything okay- is the baby okay?"

I nod fiercely, my vision becoming a blur as the momentum of my face sends tears into disrepute. "The ba-by," I'm pretty sure I'm talking. "It's fine."

"Hey, shh." I can hear the squeaking in his bed as his movements cause it to strain beneath his weight. "Kim, talk to me…"

For a moment, this moment, his voice sings to me in the same steady notes that always called to ease and fulfill my heart in times of need.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, taking a tissue as he extends a box to me. "I…"

_I wish I could tell you…_

"Take your time…" he allows me, settling back slightly in his bed.

"I feel like my heart doesn't know how to catch up," I admit softly, my eyes meeting his. "This past year has been everything I never could have expected…Existing in a world without Luke…having you all back in my life…and now this," I try to smile. I try so damn hard. "I feel like…all of these things, everything that happened…as much as it hurt sometimes, I feel like I'm…alive again enough to feel not only the hurt, but the beautiful things I wouldn't have and it's all because of you."

He shakes his head a little, a temperate expression elapsing as our hands play and slide against each others. "For everything it's worth, Kimberly…I feel the same way about you in a lot of ways. It sounds a bit crazy but when I'm with you, it's those moments when I feel like there's a reason for everything. I've had a few of those moments in my life before, but I don't know, I guess I thought that somehow I'd never have that again."

Saliva sits at the opening of my throat, threatening to choke me as I feel everything compress inside of me. "I wasn't expecting this," I'm referring to the pregnancy and somehow hoping and assuming that he knows that. "I thought I knew what I wanted for years and now this…" I lose my trail of thought.

He rescues me quickly enough, tracing hair from the edge of my face. "I'm definitely not an expert on having kids, but I've heard that it never happens when you expect it but it gives you more than you could possibly have without it. I know you and Tommy probably have a lot of stuff to sort through, but you're both seriously awesome people-."

"Oh, Jase," I whisper in an almost blushed tone.

The corner of his mouth smiles. "It's not about the end, Kim, it's about the journey…and you and Tommy are just at the start of yours and you, Kim…this is just another part of yours and so much that you deserve to experience."

I grab his hand and pull it toward me, squeezing it between my other as a tear finds its way from the corner of my eye. Despite his condition, Jason can read well beyond the best intentions of my heart and his face falls slightly as he kisses my hand.

"Kim…why are you so sad, sweetheart?"

_Sweetheart…  
_

"I don't want to say goodbye to you," my eyes flood under pressure as I whisper the half lie and succumb in silence to the greatest one of all.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Teaser for Chapter 29 "Jason's Slipping"**_

Hasn't he seen the life Kimberly's revelation has brought to me, if only for this one, single day?

_AN- Thank you to everyone for your reviews! Apologies for the delay, I have a newborn, and newborns have a habit of needing a feed two minutes after opening a chapter to work on! This chapter felt so impossible to make it through...for so many reasons. I'm at a point with this story where when I write it, I feel myself in the same mindframe as the character and when they're fragmented, I tend to write that way. I found myself almost *too* realistically exploring how Kimberly would feel in this situation and I think again, like much of the story, reality really brings out not the worst in us, but the vulnerability in all of us. Plus this is a story. There has to be a touch of drama. The curtain's close to closing, but be well assured, there will be no cliched happy endings here. A huge thanks to those who have been reading this story so far, it really means the world to me. ~CS :)_


	29. Jason's Slipping

**Afterglow**

**By Chanelle Summer**

**Chapter 29 – Jason's Slipping**

I don't know it it's the drugs or the vast approaching of everything else, but I am finding it an increasing challenge just to pull myself out of the disorientation between dreams and waking.

If breathing is as innate as living might seem, it's obvious that I am no longer as instinctive as I am a product of the very bones and innards which are left to compose me. I'm less aware and more aware of this. In my stupor of never-ending mental dysfunction, I find myself spinning in passages of sleep, unconsciousness, rest and pale viability. I am thinking this now; even when I thought I was asleep and realized I could barely tell the difference anymore.

I find the clock on the wall, but the black barbed hands race misleadingly against the numbers and everything starts to walk backward.

Only a stray hand to the table on my right finds the marker to set me straight and I eye the plastic cup with listless contempt, as I toss the pills into my mouth and feel their taste recognize me. Their various shapes dislodge with some water, but the flavor remains a sore reminder of another nameless day.

My body is pressed like a mold into the mattress, making for another contest in my struggle to recognize existence. The blanket at my shoulders feels rested with attentive precision, just like the everlasting warmth that heeds at my back. I turn over and am met by the kink in the blanket's edge, sprawled like a waterfall over the bed's side from her grief-stricken farewell. I touch the place with my fingers and exhale with something resembling release. The relief of knowing I didn't just imagine Kimberly being here is something all too overwhelming to express.

I inhale, but can't find her scent. The air around me feels almost opaque.

"You okay?"

I am somehow startled by Tommy's conventional question. He reflects my disquieted response by promptly catching the cup that I send falling from the bedside table, before setting on me with a look of ambivalence.

"How long was I asleep…?" I murmur, suddenly squinting and tossing my head around a bit as though highly aggravated at something.

"You nodded off for maybe a minute, bro," he reassures me as one would a frightened child. "The nurse came in and delivered your meds."

I scratch my chest which starts to hurt and it's the pain that surprises me. It feels almost mediocre to be able to register a discomfort so minute and again, like a child, I busy myself with this very basic contemplation.

Paper rustles in between his hands and catches my otherwise absent attention. He smiles meekly. "I grabbed the paper on the way here so we'd have something to read," he announces with simplistic pleasure, wagging the newspaper in his hand briefly, before lowering it on the bed beside me. "I called in on you just before lunch, but you were still asleep...figured you would want to know how the Knights went last night..."

I nod despite everything and anything else, but as he smoothes out the paper beside me, my voice emanates the gravity of her ghost. "Kim was here…she was here."

Tommy's eyes' dart from the article before him, peering at me intensely. "Today?"

I still feel like I have pills wedged in my throat. "She was sitting there…" I picture her, my lips vibrating tiny movements as I try to recall her words, but more importantly, how they made me feel.

It's all too hard for me to recollect, until Tommy slowly folds the newspaper closed and there's an almost sad realization that magnifies through his glasses.

My eyeballs almost droop, as I reach for his arm in an attempt to pull myself up. "It's been so long since I saw her…" my words sound vague, as though their meanings are just out of reach. "She was crying…she was," I let some inaudible sound, shaking my head as my mind runs off on a lonely digression.

"Did she mention what was upsetting her?"

As I inhale in fluttered movements and glance back at him, I find him contrastingly holding onto his own breath stagnantly.

I pause and for this moment, I am honored with clarity at the memory of her precious smile through all those tears. "She told me everything Tommy," I reach for him, pausing again as he adjusts the pillow behind me. His body waits for me to continue. "She told me about the baby."

Tommy lowers back into his chair. The distance in his expression is immense, as he drags his glasses down from his face and discards them to the table beside me. My posture pulls up like a puppet on strings and my eyes start wobbling. I can't break down his response.

His face relaxes and settles on a distant place that's out of reach. His abandoned glasses remain against the outer wall of my medicine cup and I feel suddenly laced with frustration at my own dawning.

"You told me already…didn't you?" my question is a statement and softly projected. "I'm sorry…" I shake my head, suddenly relinquishing placidity. "Man, I must be stupid to think you wouldn't tell me something as big as that. You probably told me twenty damn times and I can't even remember-."

Whatever happens immediately after this I can't even recall to be able to tell you, despite the fact that we are settled very much in the present. Tommy's eyes' roam over the tiny print of a newspaper article as his voice gently delivers it to me. Nothing is connecting. I don't know if I fell asleep at some point, but I use a pitch of energy to speak up. His recited words are not where my head is right now.

"You know bro, what I would really like to do is go through some arrangements and stuff…you know, sorting out who's going to fight over all the stuff that I don't own."

He glances up, a liquid motion of movements as he rolls the paper shut and reaches up for a notebook on my nightstand. "Have you written anything more down?"

I doubt it. "I was just thinking about my funeral and how I want it to be."

Tommy's face is now completely glazed over, as he flicks the book open and reaches for a pen. "You know you really should be doing this with your mother," he mentions evenly. "I would hate for your family to resent me for intervening in this."

"It's just a start, Tommy…" I assure him, gesturing limply with my hand as though to get him going. "I don't want to be cremated, anymore…I want to be buried."

His eyes dip slightly, but he begins to scrawl down notes as I continue. "I don't want people wearing suits to my funeral…Keep the religious stuff keyed down, I don't want to be judged as being a hypocrite."

I watch his pen pause as I sigh, and rub my hand over my face. My skin is almost so numb that I can't even register my own touch.

"You okay?" I hear him ask.

I laugh sharply, before clearing my throat and exposing my face again. "I don't really want to talk about this…"

He quickly shuts the notebook as color bleeds the life from his face. "All in time, Jase, we don't need to talk about this now."

"I need you to go to my place and get my ranger box from under my bed," I tell him as though in a conversation with myself and I. "I want you to keep it…wherever, I don't mind."

"I can take a trip up there for you on the weekend, if you like?" he suggests, moving well with the conversation, despite its abrupt pace. "Bring you some fresh clothes back."

My top teeth catch onto my lower lip. "I probably have enough clothes to last me."

Finally there is nothing to soothe the menacing pace of the nearby clock but the shocked silence of his surrender and my own bitter tenacity. It's an exchange we've made too many times. I feel angry at the taste in my mouth and agitated by a tag on the neck of my top which feels like it's rubbing me the wrong way. I feel bipolar. I wonder how many times we've done this. And more especially, I wonder how many times I've looked at him just like I am now, my eyes peeled open in desperate search for an escape away from this repression.

"Take me away from here Tommy…anywhere but here."

* * *

Like the scene of a dream, panoramic splendor arouses my most peripheral senses as my eyes focus through the rich, mid-afternoon light. The backdrop, which travels magnificently from leafy beryl through to the dead of the deserts to the far right only intensifies as the car idles to a benign purr. The sound of gravel crunching and separating beneath the weight of tires becomes wholly distant; the drive here, not even a distant memory.

My body pushes against the resistance of the seat-belt strapped against my chest. I take it all in. Every color and visual aroma. The taste takes me back and just as quickly rebirths me. Only the greatest of memories thrill the senses in such a dramatic way, casting you back to recall the saltiness of your tears over the words that were said or the doubts you had.

It becomes instantaneous to remember what that ocher sand felt like as my bare knees grinded against its unforgiving texture. I can remember the smell of the open air as we all made our trek from the Command Center that very first day Zordon called upon us; the pitch of our disbelieving voices and the smoldering heat that relentlessly coerced, yet failed to gain our attention through the maddened adventure.

The keys grazing Tommy's restless knee beside me chime to a dwindle and I can sense his approaching voice. My breathing quickens. In retrospect, everything tastes differently.

"I'm just...taking it all in," I quietly tell him, my shoulders still awkwardly tipping forward. His hand moves to unlock my seatbelt and like a child, I remain oblivious to his tender attentiveness to my comfort. "I could sit here forever..." my voice is barely a trace.

"Kimberly once brought me up here...admittedly, much to my disappointment when I realized she was here for the views and...not for anything else..."

My mind is sharp enough to register his humor and my lip curls upright, a light snicker escaping at his expense. "I didn't even know this place was up here," I admit.

He nods, his expression at peace. "I haven't actually been up here during the day before...it's insane to realize how different the world appears at night."

Too true.

"Everything always feels different with the lights on," I input, allowing my body to rest against the back of the seat. "At the same time, there's a lot to fear with that sort of clarity of view."

The sun's flagging rays' dart abstract silhouettes along my lap. I can almost sense the shapes shifting during my captive glance and it feels hopeless because I know there's nothing I can do to make them stay. There's nothing I can do to hold onto the light. Time. How many times have we talked about this? Too many times...

All this beauty will be still here. It will evolve, without a doubt, but will remain to be experienced even when I am no longer here to see it.

Light and dark interchange like the tide and it's only as I hear the car's engine roll over and revive that I realize my amnesic submission to sleep. I rub at my eyes, somewhat helpless as Tommy leans over and does up my seat-belt. He studies me carefully, patiently waiting as I climb back out of my stupor.

"Sorry," I fumble out, struggling to engage with him fully. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Don't worry about it bro, it's almost dinner time. You feel like something to eat? We can go grab whatever you feel like."

It's frightening to realize at this very moment that I could quite possibly surrender to sleep and fail to register, not only the need to eat, but the desire to wake up again. I pray it's just exhaustion. Every second I emerge from my dormancy only proves this raging war against the darkness is futile. The shadows have changed entirely on my lap.

As Tommy reverses the car out of the parking spot, my head rolls to the side with its motion and rattles limply as we gain momentum over the uneven road. My stomach doesn't hurt, but feels twisted and unwelcome. I'm sorry. I've lost my way...

"Think they need to do something about this road," Tommy murmurs, as he notches up the volume of the radio.

My hand blindly reaches for the arm rest on my door and I try to steady myself, the jagged rocking of the car doing strange things to my head. I feel like we're driving too fast, even though I know we're probably barely crawling thanks to Tommy's careful and expert handling behind the wheel.

Rough, neglected dirt walls bulge along my line of sight, carrying on in ugly manner long enough to bore me. I swallow, feeling empty, and glance over to look at Tommy.

His eyes twitch. A slice of reflected light cuts across their dark centers, before snapping to resonate across mine and in an instant, sound is all I hear.

The car brakes explode, shattering all control and sending everything in a sharp contradiction of momentum. My head collides with the airbag and I feel out of it and nothing but caught up in darkness. Inflated plastic heats and sweats beneath my chattering jaw. My tongue escapes, hopelessly slobbering over its surface and I try to move, try to respond. Try to respond to him.

We've stopped but my body is still vibrating. Everything hurts.

Smoke dirties the outside of the windscreen, climbing over it like parched fog.

My hand slides down in blind search of the buckle to my seat-belt, prodding at it until it releases and crumples me forward. I'm groaning. I'm moaning and somewhat disturbed that the most paralyzing pain seems to be radiating from the place where my teeth crunched through my tongue.

I find the door handle and shove it open, spilling and collapsing onto the gravel flesh below. My heart has stopped beating and is instead kicking me. With my stomach only an inch off the road, I try to get to my knees only to stop as I spot Tommy through the smoke moving ahead. Not running or walking or jogging or hurrying.

Instead, he is bellowing, his body flailing in so much desperation that I can barely make out as he screams her name over and over again.

"Kimberly! KIM-BER-LY!"

* * *

Her name still carries over and over, only it's my own voice and confined within my skull that's feeling black and blue and beaten. The padding encircling my neck was the starting point of the itch; the sweat beads have soaked a patch into the hospital gown carelessly worn and I claw at it, wincing as it starts to throb. As my hand gingerly slides across the curtain holding her from view, I am brought close to my knees.

Gravity becomes my cement as I witness the nightmare before me.

I cling onto the draping fabric for a moment before stumbling toward her as flashing lights from machinery dismally mask the emerging end of day. A rhythmic pulsing sounds to the life left in the hands of these walls. Everything looks unnatural and blurred. I blink and then wince, scratching at the sides of my face until I can't stand to stare at her and realize I'm no longer staring, but disassembling all over her.

I'm pulling at everything. Rescuing her from the imprisonment of needles and sticky pads that leech at her skin. I have ten fingers. Some are blindly searching for her freedom from the catheter sending saline into her veins, while the remainder continue to tear at everything else.

"No, no-."

_No, no-._

This is all I am saying and thinking. The base of my right thumb sandpapers over its neighboring finger as sticky residue from medical tape makes an angry mess of everything and I just about give up. I find the landing of her cheek bone and dishearteningly grope at it as a voice intrudes. Cindy's. I will it away with another No.

I say Kimberly's name out loud, but it barely registers a single syllable from the English language and instead migrates into some collision of thoughts that become scarily pronounced. Is this what it feels like? Seeing someone you love teeter between places beyond your very reach? Is this how my mother always felt, watching me lie amongst the shackles of cords and cables while I promised her that she would be fine? That I would be fine. That everything was fine.

My face throws upward to the sound of my shaky breath climbing up too many notches. Her bangs are sprawled over her face like an afterthought and I brush them away. I pull the blanket up on her just a little higher. I don't want her to be cold.

Is this what it feels like? To be forced into being the strong one, even when you've been rendered so hopelessly helpless by all comparisons?

Icy sweat treads tiny footsteps over her forehead as I watch a stampede of goosebumps deform the skin of her arms. I can't get the blanket high enough. I'm _failing_. Is this what it feels like?

I close my eyes. I open them.

And then suddenly find myself looking at me. I'm the one lying in bed, deadened and gone.

_No, no, no, no, no, no-._

Her voice beckons me to actuality. "Jason, wake up, it's okay!"

My body leaps forward in a fury of desperate departure in search for her awaiting arms. The momentum is immense and the collision is my only destination. She was waiting for me. Our landing is pure grace.

I swallow and settle the side of my face into the cove between her breasts, feeling her fingers drizzle consolingly over my cheek as I catch my breath. My eyes close, absorbing the adornment of a kiss to the crest of my head, yet light continues to seek my bloodshot gaze with resolution. She hums. I hum in acknowledgment. Words aren't necessary.

My hands search for the rounded pillowing beneath me and I offer her stomach a gentle caress as she trusts herself to release me, staring down at me in quiet musing. The length of her top falls with her movement and displays the allure of her body from beneath. She's still little everywhere else. Watching her stomach evolve has become pictures in the timeline of weeks and days that would otherwise be entirely lost to me.

"You were dreaming," Kimberly points out the obvious, handing me a glass of water from my bedside table. She continues to observe me carefully, a stray lock of wavy hair skimming her face as she tilts it curiously. "You looked so peaceful at first and then…I watched your face turn painful. Are you okay?"

The water is almost too cold and it scolds my throat, but I smother any reaction with my better instinct and nod, allowing myself to free fall back onto my bed. Her eyes are throwing me pennies for my thoughts as she studies me and I wonder what words will transcend beyond the spoken form. Sometimes a simple look at her makes me see forever or maybe I could just see forever with her. She's my light on awakening from the dreams which are now my ghosts, yet it's in them where I exist through periods of time that crawl back to my past and run to a future that I will certainly never experience for real.

It's in these same dreams where I can experience the only true sense of immortality. Where blood seems wet and fear feels real, but I am forever present. A place where I am never gone.

"Your mom has driven over to Sandra's and Tommy will be back later," Kimberly tells me, the finer details not worth mentioning. "We can go for a walk if you're up to it; when you're ready."

I have to warm up my vocal cords. It's quite bizarre, really. My ten year old cousin asked me not too long ago if I had voice cancer and I'm pretty sure my mother nearly fell off her perch in horror at his ignorant question, but looking back on it it's pretty amusing. The poor kid must have been appalled enough as it was being forced to visit some sick distant relative who not only is dying, but looks like he's dying. I can't even remember the last time I shaved. Thankfully, Kimberly's super helpful in the personal maintenance department and doesn't feel the need to bullshit me any other way.

Some time ago…I don't remember how long ago…the struggle to hold off everything outside of me caved in on top of the very core of what's kept me going all these years. I was convinced for a long time that a hero was what they died for and not what they lived for. I was convinced of a lot of stuff, really. Too many things that I shared with you through this voyage and many more that will stay with me and leave with me one day. One day. The days don't matter so much anymore and neither do the nights because I am no longer afraid of the darkness thanks to her. I'm no longer afraid of dying, but I am still afraid of leaving here.

I cast abrupt sounds through closed lips and unfold my arm lazily to catch her as she rests beside me. The back of her head nuzzles her pillow in search for a point of comfort. The smallest of gaps cushions the length between our bodies and yet we're intertwined by this stage of time where we've already shed all our tears and spoken all our words. It's not as poetic as it sounds. We're both still scared as hell and that trepidation is only heightened by the knowledge that although we walk together now, we're both walking along two very separate, indescribable paths that are gradually pulling us apart.

My free hand slides over my body in search for hers and it rests on the place where I know my son is safe and well. One day he will have a journey of his own and it's all my hopes and dreams for his future that allowed me to find the strength to trust in others. If I couldn't trust in the people around me to hold me up during these final months, then how could I ever leave this earth comforted that they will do the same for him? That's the single greatest thing I can ever truly believe in.

Kimberly hums. And I hum. I consider telling her about my dream before it fades away beyond my recollection, but decide against it for no particular reason. We exhale together and I pray to God that I get the opportunity to feel her stomach jump just one more time. No spoken words are really necessary but I finally find them all the same.

"Do you ever wonder how we got here, Kim?"

She murmurs more than hums in response. Her voice is somewhat fogged by her own fears and prayers for the future. "I think sometimes we need to stop wondering how we got here and just focus on where we're going."

My head inclines a little just to touch hers. "Where exactly are we going?" I wonder with just a subtle touch of playfulness in my voice.

Her face drops to stare directly at me. Directly inside of me. "For a walk," she giggles softly. "It's a gorgeous day outside. Even if we just make it to the letterbox you should enjoy it."

And with that I'm left to do nothing but recall the words a wise friend once said to me: enjoy the journey, because it lasts longer then the destination.

**To Be Concluded...The Epilogue**

_A/N – Well, what can I say? I experienced so much disappointment at the delay of getting this chapter out. I misplaced the first half of it and was at an absolute loss when it came to rewriting it. Then, take on board illness, babies, vacations, a husband in poor health, renovating a house, running a business and life in general, and you discover that nothing about my life is particularly writing-friendly. The good news? The epilogue will be posted this week, as it is already written! For anyone fearing a lack of closure or answers, I hope the epilogue will provide as much of those as possible so don't get too ahead of yourself. Thanks again to everyone for your patience :)_


	30. Tommy's Afterglow

**Afterglow**

By Chanelle Summer

**The Epilogue – Tommy's Afterglow**

_A/N – Dedications are a little cheesy haha but none the less, this one goes out to my big sister for her constant stalking of this and every other story I have ever posted x_

I am stirred by overwrought adrenalin as my feet mark some sort of permanent scars on the laminate floor that runs parallel to the birthing suite by my side. I've been awake for enough hours that I've become delusional and I look it, too; only one or two midwives pass me by but they must be so well accustomed to this cagey, incontinent march that they don't stop to ease me.

I have a few candy bars under my belt and half a coffee still fermenting off the tip of my tongue. I probably need to take a piss, but if I stop walking I might fall asleep. There are three empty chairs a stone's throw away, but I ignore them. I'm ignoring everything outside and within. If I somehow stop, I might just register how scared I am to go back inside that room and I can't do that. I can't do that now.

This endless cycle of mindless gibberish is just another way for me to evade the lights that drown me with unsought spotlight. Be gentle on me or else I might just start quoting Shakespeare. This is a hospital and this is The hospital. I still hate the whining floors and detest the dirty lighting, but somehow I'm at a demented peace because within these walls I met not only the end of one journey but what is about to become the beginning of another.

I hear a cry of life echo from down the hall and are reminded of the moment that Jason's became lost to us. It was only seven weeks prior to this very date, and yet I am balanced by the agony and beauty of those final minutes all the same. A fire that gave way to ash. Flames that destroyed and changed everything within reach and yet above the emptiness, remained a light that lingered despite.

The afterglow. The subtle sunset that settles on top of the darkness below.

"Tommy?"

I barely stop and yet somehow pause within disrupted motion. Caroline Hart considers me for only a brief moment and seems to neglect her intended lecture.

I give in. My breathing is incredibly labored and unstructured. "Is she okay?" I practically gasp out.

She rests a hand on my shoulder. "She's asking for you."

I had been on a mere fifteen minute intermission from Kimberly's frightfully hellish loss of self control and awareness. Right now, she rests on a stool at the foot of her hospital bed, her entire body shaking and swaying to the grueling air sucking in through her nose and flooding out of her lips.

Those same lips shatter my name into a hundred sharp and desperate pleas and I move in for her, reaching her just in time to accept her weight. Her arms latch onto the back of my shirt as the front of it becomes caught in the suction of her breathing.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she begs to anyone listening. To me.

I swallow, admittedly laden in all my awkwardness, as I nod knowingly to the midwife who offers another encouraging statement. _You're so close Kimberly. You're doing great. I know it hurts, but only a few more pushes and all the pain will be gone. Good girl, Kim. Push a bit l__onger next time. That's it. I know it hurts Kim, but soon you'll be holding your beautiful little boy in your arms..._

Kimberly went into labor almost forty-eight hours ago despite my ignorant insistence that it was just a false alarm because her waters hadn't broken. With herself in Angel Grove and myself in Reefside, I remained the ever confident support partner as I rattled off all the signs of early labor that I'd recited after reading several pregnancy books in the previous weeks. I was adamant. I told her to rest. Lie on the couch and relax. Call Carmel and have her come over.

Maybe I wasn't as courageous as I was terrified at the thought that once again, time had us at its ill mercy. I think I cursed so many times on the drive to reach her that I was literally spitting on the steering wheel. Cursing as I remembered that I left my cell at home and that I forgot to tell Hayley what was happening and that I bothered to leave Angel Grove in the first place. We'd been adequately warned that Kimberly was a likely candidate for pre-term labor and at exactly three weeks and three days away from her February due date, the doctor was not lying.

You would have sworn that I was the one going into labor.

_That was good Kimberly! Good girl, Kim, give us another one like that!_

It was like a scene from some extremely clichéd movie as I dramatically flung the doors of the maternity ward open and raced like a maniac down the hall in desperate search for her. Images of her huffing and puffing on a hospital bed were instantly replaced by my own embarrassment as I almost started shaking a nurse in my path in madness. Relax, Mr Oliver. She's only three centimeters dilated.

Little did she understand, however. This wasn't just any girl giving birth to her firstborn son. This was the woman who I'd loved, hated, needed, and tempted all in the space of a few months and decades and without an ounce of expectation, I was there to be loved, hated, needed and tempted all over again. Get rid of any images you might have of some sort of fairytale ending here. There's such a fine line between love and hate, and it was undeniable that Kimberly would need me through the biggest hurdle in her life. Tempted though? It felt achingly tempting to allow myself the momentary feeling that I was there to meet my own child.

The reality is as crushing as the experience of child birth itself.

_Again, Kim! PUSH!_

Jason's final days spanned unexpectedly into many months that saw each and every one of us push the boundaries of inevitability. It all feels out of order to me now, but the bittersweet knowing was every bit as kind to us as it was menacing. Jason suddenly didn't want to die so quickly and I accepted his fate even less. Kimberly loved him a little bit more and kept me away not as much. Jason witnessed the miracle and anticipation of impending life on sonograms and in the eyes of the creators of his own. It's undeniable; we _were_ in denial.

Kimberly loved Jason through every night that saw him through and in August of last year I took up her offer and temporarily moved into her neglected apartment. Not a single pot plant survived her absence. I never played as many games of chess in my life as I did with Jason during the passing Fall. He made me promise to never take it easy on him and I kept my word, even as the last leaf abandoned the tree outside his window and unquenchable fatigue increasingly stole away his focus. Never his cocky smile and never his determination to kick my sorry ass.

Jason found rest during the lightest hours of the day in a rocking chair as Kimberly, his parents and I built a nursery around him, adorned in powder blues and cotton white. Kimberly would steal private tears as his rhythmic breath wheezed from nearby, and I never intervened, even when she would catch my line of sight and find me crying just as hard inside. I never saw her again with the same eyes. Her precious strength shone brightest of all on the night of Adam's highly anticipated charity auction where local businesses raised over thirty-five thousand dollars for the memorial hospital and Kimberly graced centre stage.

Jason was with her, even though we had buried him only ten days earlier. Just four weeks and one day before Christmas Day.

_Push, push, pus-s-h-h-h-h!_

Within the walls of my mind, my memory continues to divide the thorns from the roses as I glance down and clasp Kimberly's hand within my own. Sweat melts the frazzled tips of my hair. Her body heaves with tears. And all I am capable of doing is once again, holding her hand and refusing to let it go.

_Just one more, Kim!_

I tremble, squeezing my eyes shut as I feel myself almost absorb the agony from her being. Her voice sounds at a level so forceful that it roars into nothing. Silent agony. Jubilation. So many tears and unanswered pleas for mercy.

God's name is mentioned too many times for me to count. No doubt he's with us now, or at least I'd like to think so. I know she's incapable of acknowledging that I'm here, but as her face flicks up one last time it's all I can do just to hold her up as her legs sink down in all her effort.

"Oh my God-d!" she sobs in her delirium.

"Oh my God," I whisper, air panting from my lips as I find myself unknowingly mirroring her actions. Hands surround us from all directions, but I refuse to let go of her finger tips as they blanket my view unintentionally.

A cry. Kimberly's cry. A baby's cry.

The room is overrun by so much life that it quickly eclipses everything else and blinds me away from her side. I am swept to the sideline without an anchor, as nursing staff swiftly help Kimberly to the horizon of her bed. She is sobbing uncontrollably, blood and sweat smearing up her side as her arms cling onto the tiny baby, holding him desperately against her chest.

Her face sickens with the paleness of exhaustion as her tiny frame rocks without purpose. Blankets arrive aplenty. A tiny puff of matted black hair is all that remains on show between the heartbeat of his mother's chest and the many hands that intrude at his sides.

I thank God instead of praying to him, unable to distinguish between the sweat and tears that glisten off her cheek as I move in to meet it with the back of my hand.

"Shhh," I soothe, sweeping moistened bangs away from her eyes. "You did it, Kim."

"He's okay," is all she manages to whisper out, as her mother enters in to console her from her other side.

"He's perfect, sweetheart," Caroline beams with unconditional pride, as her hands accidentally tangle with my own in our frenzied attempts to mask the sheer height of our current gravity.

My smile has never been the same since the last day I saw him, and yet it's bursting through as I watch Kimberly's eyes' unfold with steady grace upon the little life searching her breast innately.

I was frightened for this moment if you want to know. Spent entire days distant at best as I tried to prepare myself for the fallout of this one precious hello. I wanted to believe that for all the times we'd cried for Jason's loss that somehow they would be enough to starve away that same devastation at the birth of his son, affectionately called Jasper. It's why I close my eyes now. Why they're so far closed that tiny flares of floating darts speckle my vision.

Jason's entire life doesn't flash before me as I expected and instead, as I venture back out of my hiding place I find myself somewhat at peace I realize he never left us.

There's no fear. No regrets. More than anything else, I simply wish he could be here.

"Don't go, please," Kimberly's face reaches up to me and I curl down to her height, hugging her face against my own.

"Never," I whisper in promise, knowing that she has finally found her purpose, I have finally found my place and Jason has finally found his peace.

**The End**

_Final A/N – A huge thank you to everyone who took the time out to read this story and who had the patience to stick with it! It sounds silly, but when I started this story I was literally a girl – and my vision for it was at such a different place to where I took it over all these years of growing up. It was challenging and even more surprisingly, a lot of fun to write!_

_Where to from here? Only God knows! I still have a few very challenging months ahead of me before life hopefull__y levels out and I can join that wonderful notion known as "normality" again. Even when I'm not __actively posting work, I am forever writing and that's something that has never changed no matter what life has chucked my way. I literally have six stories tha__t I play around with whenever I get the time and out of those, I'm looking and hoping to post "The Perfect Replacements", a suspense thriller, and "The Scarlet Carousel", an adventure fic in the very near future. :) Stay safe and happy reading and writing __to all!_


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